#Shepard on the other end of the line: 'who is this'

[rekas-bitches]

For summaries I've got a couple trics I like, both to use, and to judge whether I wantto read other fics.

1. Some text from the actual fic.

Whether it's one line or several lines of dialogue. If you're writing a one-shot, it can be towards the end of the fic, but it can also be the first line. This helps both give a sample of writing quality and create curiosity. This can be followed by a brief explanation giving context to the dialogue

They have Shepard’s pie for dinner. Ron and Hermione watch Harry fill up his plate and only start serving themselves when he picks up his fork and starts eating. Neville laughs into his wine glass. “How are you dealing with their mothering, Harry?” he asks. Ron opens and closes his mouth for a minute, groping for an excuse. Eventually, Ron says, “He’s just so small, Nev.” “Hey,” Harry says. “I’m seventeen. I’m an adult.” Ron shakes his head at Neville. “My best friend is an infant.” A curse regresses Harry to his seventeen year old self, physically and mentally. He doesn’t recognise this strange peaceful wizarding world, but there are two people he does recognise: Ron and Hermione. Based off this tumblr post.

- there will come a time, you'll see by aloneintherain

2. Basic explanation followed by a second one

As the title establishes, a longer explanation followed by a brief second explanation. Neither would work without the other and they work together to create a clear picture of what's going on. Sometimes the second line can just be a quick trope explanation along the line of "Or: Yet another soulmates AU", "AKA the time Peter Parker fell through a hole in the universe", and "Or: an AU where Nahida and Alhaitham met before canon started and it changed everything ". Other times, it can be a bit more of a specific description:

Tim's dad is dead, killed by a boomerang to the chest, and Tim is an orphan now. He knows Bruce would adopt him if needed but he couldn't possibly impose himself on the Wayne's more than he already has. It's okay though, because he has a plan for this, he just needs someone to play the role of his estranged "Uncle Eddie".

Except... the guy he hires is weirdly concerned about his well being and Tim can't figure out why.

Meanwhile, Jason Todd is forced to reevaluate his plans for his debut as Red Hood, because, as it turns out, his replacement is a suicidal idiot who can't be trusted to stay out of trouble.

OR

Tim Drake fails to recognize Jason Todd, back from the dead, and hires him to be his Uncle Eddie to avoid getting adopted by Batman. Somehow this ruins everyone's plans.

- The Best Laid Plans of Robins by Alleena_Pallatz

3. Vague one line explanation

Being able to keep it brief and witty in the description is honestly a great indicator of writing skill.

When Lestrade's go-to amateur detective finds himself stumped on a rather bloody case, John Watson suggests that they call the other one... The other what, though, remains to be seen.

- The Other One by ObsidianDissident

Even just:

The evolution of Tim, Lucy, and Tamara as they become a family.

- i'm coming home (tell the world) by hishn_greywalker

4. Any combination of the above

Seriously, scrolling through the fics in my recs, almost all of them follow the top 2, and the few ones remaining. I think the combination of quote from fic followed by an "Or: insert trope here" is the most common way to summarize, probably because it's so easy.

"What, you're telling me the great Batman couldn't stop a nine-year-old from sneaking out?" Green Lantern scoffed. "At least come up with a believable excuse." It was Batman's turn to scoff. "Like anyone else could do better. If you can keep Robin off the streets for a week, I'll buy you a Porsche."   AKA The JLA stages an intervention with Batman to get Robin off the streets. it goes downhill from there. - Adventures in Batsitting by raven_of_hydecastle

I hope this explanation with examples was able to show how simple it can be to make a really compelling summary once you've already written the fic.

I know "I'm bad at summaries" and "I'm bad at tags" are not sentiments to voice in the summary/tags of a fic. But, genuinely, I don't consider myself good at either. (This is background.)

The actual question is, how do I learn these? Especially tagging. My fandom background is sparse, at least far as participation in broader fandom culture is concerned, so I wasn't part of fandom when current tagging practices on AO3 evolved. It's difficult for me to grasp, and I suspect I end up treating the tags more like CWs than search terms as a result.

Great for people who want to filter out particular unpleasant elements. Not so great for people who can't find my fic because I didn't think to tag something someone else might see as obvious. I have severe social anxiety so joining e.g. a Discord to ask for help isn't really a viable option. Tagging fic isn't worth panic attacks.

Tagging fic isn't worth panic attacks.

100% agreed!

When it comes to being "good at tagging" that definition is going to vary from person to person. It will also vary depending on what your goal is.

I'm a fairly minimal tagger myself. I'll tag the fandom and the major characters, the general vibe (e.g. humour, smut etc) and then anything else I might think of. I don't personally like to tag smut fics with all of the various sex acts in them, but I've done it before because I thought I was supposed to. Since it doesn't really feel like "me" though I've since stopped doing that. If folks want to avoid my fic as a result, that's totally fair. If folks who would like it can't find it 🤷‍♀️ maybe it'll be a rec someday.

All that is to say that tagging is not a thing it's possible to be perfect at, so just aim for accomplishing whatever your goal is.

I get what you're saying, though. I wrote a fake dating fic once without tagging it as fake dating because I didn't realize that fake dating was a trope. It was only when a couple of friends started referring to it that I realized and added that tag to my fic.

One way to learn about those kinds of tropes is to pay attention when you see them tagged on other people's fics. You can browse through tags that are similar to ones you already use and see what else people add to their fics and whether those would work for yours or not.

You can also visit Fanlore! It's another project by the OTW (the people who run AO3) and it's a great resource for learning about fandom. You can look up a common tag like Alternate Universe, and it will give you examples of different types of AU and link out to pages that will link out to pages that will... you get the idea. It's wikipedia but for fandom stuff.

As for summaries, there are a lot of ways to go about that too. I'll let folks add ideas in the notes. The way I do it is that I include the name(s) of the major character(s), and outline the inciting incident for the fic. Since I post as I write, I might or might not tease something that happens later on (because I might or might not know yet).

The way to get good at doing it is just to keep practicing. When I was in university, I took a Russian Lit course where we had to write a summary of each novel in 200 words or less, 10 sentences or less - and semicolons were cheating. I did that 13 times in 8 months, and by the end of that I was really good at writing summaries. Add in the fact that I started posting fic back on FF.net where there was a character limit on summaries and you can see why I keep them pretty short.

That's another thing that you can analyze in others' fics, though. Find a summary that you think is well-written for whatever type of summary you like and then look at that author's other fics to see if you can spot a pattern to how they do it. Once you find the pattern, it's a lot easier to replicate it and then it's just a matter of repeating it until it feels natural.

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

THE BEST OF TUCHANKA: TURIAN PLATOON

Featuring: Cmdr. Sophie Shepard, Lt. James Vega, EDI, and Lt. Tarquin Victus With: Lt. Steve Cortez and The Ninth Turian Platoon Decisions like these weigh heavy on me- when I was a General, I could pass them up the chain of command. But now? I'm all I've got. I'm beginning to understand why leaders so often seem lonely... Worst case scenarios aren't just theories- they're what you'll be dealing with five minutes from now. Mass Effect 3: Legendary Edition (2021)

[ifonlyyuweremine]

Captain’s Girl. [Part I]

John Price x Reader (Call of Duty)

Synopsis: After Laswell pitches you a favor to join 141, you're left with no choice but to accept. The only problem arises when you and the Captain start to butt heads, but if the two of you hate each other as much as you say, then why is the rest of the team calling you his girl?

Tags: Enemies to lovers, tension, military romance, forbidden love, smut, fighting, secret feelings, slow burn.

Word count? You know the drill, it’s long.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

‘Captain John Price.’ You skimmed the document again, his name catching your eye for the third or fourth time. The black ink seemed to bleed together against the crisp paper of your enrollment documents into Special Forces Task Force 141. It was a promotion, and an honor at that, special forces to begin with were selective.

But 141 was almost unheard of, a combination of British special forces and American special forces. They were one of the best, and you were about to become a part of it. You read the documents again.

‘All personnel will be working under John Price and answering to Kate Laswell, respectively-’ Your eyes trailed further along the mess of columned words, making sense of the legality aspects of transferring to a new team. You hadn't expected to be transferred over, not until Kate had contacted you with an offer. You could tell she was put under pressure by the way her voice strained against the receiver…

“Look, I need you here. Ever since Shepard went rogue, we've been a bit tight over here. John has stepped in as commanding officer; technically, we already have a sharpshooter on 141. But we could use a hand, just until we sort out our bearings. Then, if you'd like, I can transfer you back to your current team…”

You'd raised an eyebrow, “Laswell, you're acting like I'm the only one who can fill these shoes. Why don't you hire a private contractor from KorTac? I'm sure they have more experience anyway.” You heard her blow out air from her nose, amused. “[Name], I don't think I have to tell you how much these guys hate private contractors. We need someone who can work as a collective team, you know… integrate themselves for the time being.”

You pursed your lips together, weighing out the pros and cons. However, Laswell was one of the best people you had ever met, a long-time friend since the baby days of your recruitment. She was a woman of her word, and she had your back. And if she said this team needed someone, she was being serious. You sighed, leaning back, “Okay, send me the details, Laswell. I'll think about it.”

…You read the contract one last time; it was simple enough. You would be transferred to 141 at the end of the month; it was a year-long contract. Which, in a way, made you a private contractor, too. The rest of 141 was under the impression that you were there to stay, everyone except the Captain and, of course, Laswell, not that she was on 141. If they decided they didn't need you before the contract ended, you could pick to stay for the remainder of the year or transfer back to your original task force.

A sigh left your mouth; you picked up your pen and flipped to the last page. Etching your signature into the blank line. You had till the end of the month; as of that moment, you were officially a member of 141.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Well, you had to give Laswell credit where credit was due. It had been a few weeks since your arrival and you fit in quite smoothly into 141; you believe she called it “integrating.” To nobody's surprise, the team was almost entirely men, aside from Ferrah, who was stationed elsewhere. It hadn't been long since your arrival until you were bound to run into someone; Jhonny was the first…

It was later in the day and you were wandering about; transferring to a new location was something you never got used to, so you tried to get a head start on mapping out the place. Everything was similar to your last base, but you still felt a bit alien. A small room tucked off to the side caught your eye, and you followed in that direction. It was a small break room, a kitchen, and a fridge tucked away in the side; there were a few cupboards and a single run-down couch.

You mosied over to the kitchen, opening cupboards and looking inside drawers. You found the usual silverware, mugs, napkins, junk, and tea bags. You stopped; tea actually sounded pretty good. Sitting on the counter was one of those electric tea kettles; you reached for it.

Waiting until the water was boiling, you grabbed the first mug you saw in the cupboard. As you dipped one of the tea bags into the scalding liquid, the door handle jostled across the room. You heard him before you saw him; his voice was deep, a bit raspy, with a thick Scottish accent. Walking through the door came a man dressed in sweatpants and a military-issued shirt. His head was shaved aside from a cropped mohawk of brown hair. His face was pulled into a subtle frown with his eyebrows furrowed. A phone pressed against his head by his shoulder.

You locked eyes with him, the pale spheres of his eyes boring into yours. You could tell he was studying you, maybe trying to deduce if he had seen you before or if you were a stranger. Suddenly, you heard muffled talking coming from the receiver of his phone. You looked down at your tea, not wanting to be considered rude for staring.

The man's voice came again, but it was almost unreadable. It was like a different language, probably Scottish, and then it stopped. When you looked back up, he was standing a few feet away from you, reaching into one of the cupboards.

“Sisters.”

You blinked; it took you a moment to understand he was talking to you. “I-What?” You asked, caught off guard by his comment. He looked back at you, holding up his phone. “S’who I was talking to.” Your eyebrows furrowed, and you nodded slowly; it was an odd way of making conversation. “Oh, okay…You uh- don't look too happy about it, family troubles?” You asked, his lips cracked into a soft smile, and he shook his head. “Nah, she's just a bit dafty. She's auld, so she feels the need to boss me around from time to time.”

You nodded along, trying to use context clues to understand some of his choice words. You watched him fill his mug with some water you had just boiled. “Ah, I see. I'm not sure I can relate; I'm the oldest sibling, so maybe I do all the bossing around.” He nodded, one of his thick eyebrows rasing, “How many siblings?”

You smiled, “Just two, a brother and sister.” The man hummed, looking down at his tea. “Gotcha…” A silence enveloped the room, and after another agonizing moment, he spoke up again. “You a new hire around here? Can't say I would forget a face like yours, lass.” You nodded, glad that the silence had been put to rest, a smile growing on your face at his comment. “Yeah, new transfer to 141.” Suddenly, his eyes grew more comprehensive, “You're the newbie?” He said, astonished.

You chuckled softly, “I wouldn't say newbie; I'm just a transfer from another unit.” His face cracked into a grin, “No kidding, apologies, didn't mean to come off as rude.” He held his hand out to you, “Johnny McTavish, team calls me Soap.”

Your eyebrows raised, “You're a part of 141?” His smile didn't fade as he nodded, “Aye, sharpshooter and sniper.” You felt a grin creeping up on your face; this Soap guy was friendly. Way friendlier than you thought the people on 141 would be. “I’m [Name]. I'm also a sharpshooter, but I also work with mechanics and firearms. Soap is…uh pretty interesting call sign, any meaning behind it?” You saw something in his eye; maybe it was pride, or perhaps something more sinister, “Well, when you clean out a room as fast as I do, people notice. You ain't got a callsign, Bonnie?”

You shook your head, “No, I guess my name has always just done the job.” Soap pat you on the shoulder, “Don’t worry, we’ll get you one.” You and Soap just talked for the next few minutes; it was nice. The conversation ebbed and flowed without problem; he nodded to the door after your tea was nearly empty. “Aye, Bonnie, why don’t I take you to meet the rest of the team? Give you a head start on the meet and greet.”

You smiled, “Yeah, why not?”

…The more time you spent with the team, the easier it got; it helped that they made good conversation. Jhonny was…well, Johnny, good sense of humor but never knew when to quit. Ghost was quieter; he didn't trust you immediately, but you'd managed to pull a few chuckles from him and the occasional polite conversation.

Kyle Garrick, or ‘Gaz,’ was an all-around good guy, funny, polite, and incredibly talented. You could never get over the time that you had gotten drunk off your ass, and Ghost told you a story of when Gaz fell out from a helicopter and was shooting at people while he was swinging from the airborne vehicle.

And then there was Price. Captain John Price, you'd met Price a day after Soap introduced you to the rest of the boys. To say the atmosphere was tense between you would be an understatement. From the minute he laid his eyes on you, they went stiff. His whole demeanor around you reminded you of a rock; it was like he didn't even want you on the team. His voice went curt, and whenever you spoke, his eyes bore holes into your head like he wanted to shoot lasers into your brain by just staring.

You'd talk about it to the rest of the team, but they shrugged it off. “Maybe he ain't used to you yet; it takes a while for the lad to trust anyone. He usually puts on the tough guy act for new recruits.” Ghost had said; Jhonny snorted at that. “Tough guy act? Dinnae, nothing bout that; when I first joined, the man made me want to pull out my hair. Think that's more than a tough guy act L.T.”

Usually, this wouldn't have bothered you as much as it did. But for some odd reason, he got under your skin like nobody else could. And believe, you were no stranger to difficult co-workers and bosses. Even worse, your first interaction with him was incredibly awkward, and you couldn't have left a good impression even if you had tried. It was almost etched into your mind like a stone tablet…

It was your last day to set up, get used to the team and your surroundings before you started working. The three days you had to relax were mostly spent either in the base gym, or eating in the cafeteria. What could you say, you were a creature of habit.

Until this point, you had met almost the entire team besides the captain. Technically, you weren’t required to meet him until you started working, but you'd already met everyone else. So, you figured it wouldn't hurt to get acquainted. You pried the information about Price’s whereabouts from Gaz: “I haven't seen him up and about today; usually, he's around. It probably means he's hauled up in his piss-poor office. The guy hates it there but usually locks himself up there when he's in a bad mood or has paperwork.”

Despite his warning, you went ahead and searched for Price’s office. That was mistake number one. After a minute or two of searching, you came across a door with the engraving “Price” carved into the wood in neat lettering. You reached for the door and tried to turn the handle, but nothing. It was locked; you frowned and tried again. But to nobody's surprise, the door remained shut.

So, you resorted to the next best thing. You knocked a few times but were met with radio silence. Maybe he wasn't in there, you chewed on your lip, thinking. There was a small window in the door, but it was covered by blinds. You squinted, pressing your hands to the wood and moving your face inches from the glass; you tried to peer inside despite the closed blinds. That was mistake number two.

“Can I help you?”

You jumped. The voice came from behind you. It was deep with a smooth British accent; you whirled around to face the person. Your eyes met what was possibly, in your opinion, sex on two legs. The man was tall and built like a tank, judging from how his biceps and chest filled out his cotton shirt. His face was stern, with short-cropped brown hair and a muttonchop beard. His eyes a deep shade of blue, you swallowed.

Damn.

You didn't believe you had a type, but this guy probably would've checked off all the boxes if you did. You stood there like a gaping fish for a moment; when he raised his eyebrow, you snapped out of your trance-like state. “I’m-uh looking for Captain Price. I thought I'd check his office, but I don't think he's there.” You cringed; your voice was rushed, a pitch higher, too.

The man crossed his arms; god, he could probably pop your head like a balloon with those things alone. “Well, you found him.” He said plainly. You stared at him briefly; of course, he was the captain. Why else would he be here? You wanted to punch yourself in the gut. “Oh,” you breathed, “great then. I wanted to introduce myself; I'm the new transfer.” You tried to muster up a confident smile, which most likely had the opposite effect, given he was looking at you like you'd grown a second head.

“[Name], I know. I read your file.” He deadpanned. His voice caught you a little off guard; he wasn't irritated per se, but he didn't seem happy about this introduction. You cleared your throat, “Great then, I'm sure Laswell told you I was coming?” You were grasping at strings here, trying to prolong the conversation.

“Yes. I'm well aware you are here. Laswell has a way of inserting help into my team.” You paused; well, that wasn't meant to be a compliment. Your smile faltered, and you looked around the room like this was some prank. “She said you guys needed someone…?”

Price nodded, his demeanor unsettlingly calm, “That’s her opinion. Now, I respect Laswell; she knows what she's doing. That doesn't mean I always agree with her; 141 was just fine, this is just a precaution on her part.”

You felt your eye twitch a little; you transferred from your other unit, the unit you were extremely close to, mind you… for this? You joined out of the kindness of your heart, only for this jackass to say you were ‘just a precaution.’ “Well, I hope you won't hold a grudge.” You said a bit curtly. Price pursed his lips together in a tight line.

“Wouldn't dream of it; a year is an awful long time to hold a grudge.” He said, the malice and ego coming off his tongue so strong you could almost taste it. What was this guy's problem with you? You did the nice thing and took time out of your day to introduce yourself to him. And he was treating you like you'd personally wronged him. “Good, then I won't either.” You breathed, frustrated. Price looked down at you, his eyes devoid of any emotion. “Well, that's good to hear; now, are you going to let me into my own office or keep standing there like a human blockade?”

This guy.

Your palms squeezed into fists, shooting him a nasty glare. You forgot you were standing right in front of the door, the embarrassment making the tips of your ears heat up. You pushed yourself to walk away, “It was nice meeting you, Captain.” You spit, venom in your tone, walking away like a wounded animal.

Suddenly, you somehow forgot about how hot he was; at that moment, you wanted to smash his gorgeous face into a wall. You liked your new Captain a lot more when he didn't speak. But the reality set in: John Price hated you for some unknown reason, and you were starting to hate him back.

…You had calmed down since that first encounter. Maybe it was a one-off thing; after all, you did go when Gaz warned you that he may already be in a bad mood. Maybe you had jumped the gun? and Price didn't hate you.

News flash: He hated you, and it was not a one-off encounter.

You were now a month into your new job, and if it weren't for Price, you would've actually been enjoying your time with 141. Everyone else was great; they were warming up to the idea of having you as a teammate. The training was hard on you, but you expected that, you were improving day to day. But no matter how well you did, you always had Price’s voice in your ear telling you that you could've done better. The man was running circles around you.

Slowly, you started to lose patience with him; when he laid out the bait, you bit. It was getting easier to react instead of keeping calm and passive-aggressively telling him you were grateful for the friendly criticism.

Even the team started to watch every interaction you had with the Captain keenly. They would tease you ruthlessly, saying his name while your back was turned just to laugh at the way your whole body seemed to go as stiff as a board.

“I swear the two of ya seem to bicker like an auld married couple. It's like watching my parents fight.” Soap had said to you once after an agitated conversation you'd had with Price moments before.

Was it your fault for causing some of the arguments between you two? Possibly. But he instigated just as much as you did; it was like a competition of who could get under the other's skin the most. And you couldn't even avoid him; Gaz wasn't kidding when he said he was out and about when Price wasn't in his office. He was like your shadow.

You were in the cafeteria? Oh, so was Price. You were in the gym? That's funny; Price was just about to do his workout. Training? He was practically glued to you and nitpicking everything you did. You were trying to go for a fucking walk around base past lights out? Price couldn't sleep, and as your captain, it was his obligation to make sure you didn't do anything stupid.

Intrusively, you wondered if he had implanted a tracker into you while you were sleeping. That had to be it; there was no way you just happened to experience so many ‘coincidences’ back to back. 

Eleven more months, you had eleven more months stuck with him. Maybe in that time, you could come up with a detailed plan on how you would murder, hide, and successfully get away with killing your Captain.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

It was one of those off days where you didn’t have much to do. Like the calm before the storm, 141 had an incoming operation; plans were laid out, and everyone knew what to do. All that was left was playing the waiting game before you loaded into the helicopter and landed in a checkpoint base in Urzikstan.

With nothing to do, you figured it wouldn't hurt to hide away in the break room with some tea and scroll on your phone. You rarely had time to yourself, so you might as well make the best of it. You peeked into the break room and smiled when you found it was empty. You made a beeline to the small kitchen counter; you'd managed to snag some different types of tea for yourself over the few weeks you had been at base. It was the floral and sweet kind that nobody touched, despite Ghost's comment that: “It's not real tea.” You found it incredibly enjoyable.

As you turned on the electric kettle, the doorknob jostled. You looked up, and your eyes met Price. Well, shit. He made eye contact with you. Obviously, the feeling between you two was mutual based on how his lips dropped into a frown when he saw you. You stared at each other for a beat before you turned your head away.

You weren't doing this today; you were too tired to bicker with your captain over something useless. You stared at the counter, waiting for him to leave or speak. But he did neither. Instead, he walked over to the counter and grabbed a mug. The silence between you was so loud that the room might've been quieter if you were arguing.

He was close, not enough that you were touching, but enough that his presence almost tickled your skin.

You just continued to watch the counter and your mug. Glancing at the kettle, you almost grimaced; it was barely bubbling. When did boiling water take so long? The tension was so thick you could practically cut it with a knife. But, Price was the first to crack.

“Interesting mug,” he commented, his voice as it always was when he spoke to you. Dry. You debated not responding, but the silence was killing you just as much. “It's my favorite.” You said back, matching his tone. However, your eyes were soft as you looked at the mug before you. It was ceramic, with hand-painted fish drawn onto it. Cod, salmon, tuna, and swordfish, too, their colors vibrant compared to the barren beige of the rest of the cup.

He made a low hum sound, almost like he didn't believe you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and you finally turned to look at him. You stopped briefly; his eyes had heavier bags than the last time you'd seen him. He didn't look as stern or unshakeable as usual; rather, he looked more weary, human. You forgot you were going to say something to him, “What?” You said, suspicious.

His eyes broke away from yours, looking down at his hands as they tore away the top of an instant coffee packet. Price emptied its contents into his plain white mug and cleared his throat. “Nothing, s’just that's my mug.” He said; his voice wasn't mad or accusatory. Instead, it was just like he was stating a fact.

You frowned, your eyebrows sinking further down your face. What was he talking about? You'd been using this mug for weeks; in fact, this was the first mug you'd used here, back when you first met Jhonny and the rest of the team. “That's not true; all the mugs in the cupboard are communal.” You pointed out, looking at him like you'd caught him in a bad lie.

He looked back at you, an almost smugness to his gaze. “Look at the bottom of the cup.” He said plainly. Your frown deepened, but you grabbed the mug and turned it over in your hands out of curiosity.

JP. It was painted in small lettering in the middle of the circular bottom. Your face dropped. Oh. JP, standing for John Price. It was his mug. Your face reddened as you realized you had been drinking out of his cup for the past month. Why hadn’t he said anything about it to you before now? He obviously knew, considering he'd seen you drink from it before.

You opened your mouth, trying to come up with a good defense. “But- Jhonny told me all the mugs in the break room were for everyone. Including this one.” You said, pointing at the mug in your hands.

Price raised one eyebrow, “And you believed him?” He said. The gears in your head started to turn; the guy had a point. Why had you trusted him of all people? You pinched the bridge of your nose between your fingers, “fucking christ Soap.” You muttered, primarily to yourself.

The steaming whistle of the kettle broke your train of thought, and your head snapped in its direction. You looked from the boiling kettle to the mug in your hand, a sigh exiting your chest. You held out the mug to him, “Here. It's yours, I'll get another one.”

Price looked surprised for a beat before his face went neutral again. He shook his head, pushing the mug back towards you. “No need; I've already got this one.” He grunted, nodding to the plain white mug sitting on his side of the counter. Before you could protest, he grabbed the kettle, pouring the hot water into his mug. Your nose scrunched as the aroma of instant coffee hit you.

He raised an eyebrow at your visceral reaction, “Not a fan of coffee now, are we?”

You cleared your throat, looking away from the blackening devil concoction. “I like coffee-” You clarified, “-just not that instant crap; it tastes like sewer water.” The curve of his lip twitched into a half-amused smile. Bringing the mug to his lips and taking a hearty sip, “noted.” Price hummed. You reached out to grab the kettle, but he handed it over to you before you could.

You raised your eyebrow; this was the closest thing you'd ever had to a friendly conversation with your Captain. You skeptically took it, breathing a ‘thanks’ to him. A comfortable silence fell on the both of you; Price could drink his coffee while you waited for your tea to brew.

Your eyes seemed to pull towards his direction as you waited, observing the curve of his lips, his nose that was just a bit crooked, and the coarse hair of his beard that thinned into stubble the further down his neck it went. You watched his adams apple bob as he swallowed his drink and how his large hand seemed to make the mug seem small. He somehow pulled off looking like he hadn't slept in weeks, which ticked you off somewhat.

He shot you a sideways glance, “You're staring.” Price said flatly; you looked like a deer caught in headlights. “I was…zoning out. And for the record, I was looking at the-uh wall behind you.” You cringed at yourself; the long pauses and uhs weren't adding to your credibility.

Price gave you a funny look, turning to look at the refrigerator behind him, which was most definitely not a wall. He turned back to you, “The wall you said?”

Well, shit, thanks, captain obvious. You frowned, giving up, “It doesn't matter-” you huffed, “Point is, I was zoned out.”

That answer seemed to satisfy him or at least force him to drop the subject; Price shrugged and took another sip from his mug. “Let's hope you don't make a habit out of it. Wouldn't want to add that to the other list of…qualities you have.” Here we go again. You raised an eyebrow, the edge in his tone all too familiar. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, “Which are?”

Price cleared his throat, gesturing his mug to you and your tea. “Theavory, for one.” Well, he got you there. You blew out air from your nose, the closest thing to a laugh you'd let him pull from you.

“Funny.” You said sarcastically.

A small smile tugged at his lips, “Yeah, well, just trying to lighten the mood between us.”

There was a pause.

The way he said ‘between us’ didn't sit right with you; what he said had undertones of bitterness, almost similar to the layers of an onion. Now, was it possible that you were reading too much into this? Yes. Was it also a tone-deaf thing to say, considering he was the primary reason you two didn't like each other in the first place? Also yes.

Don't bite the bait; don't bite the bait, “The mood you created?” You bit the bait.

He glanced at you, one of his eyebrows arching. For a second, it was silent, like he was mulling over whether it was worth it to engage. Price sighed, setting his drink down. “Look… [Name], if this is about that time when we first met, I was in a bad mood. I wasn't trying to be harsh; I'd just had a shit day. Nothing personal on you.” He craned his neck to the side, sliding a hand over his nape.

You crossed your arms. “You could've apologized,” you pointed out. Price paused, staring at you quizzically, “Why would I need to apologize?”

You almost gaped at him; his ego seemed to know no bounds. If it wasn't so irritating, it might have been comical, “You called my job a ‘precaution,’ and me, a ‘human blockade-’” You deadpanned, “-I don't like when someone downplays my whole career.” Price just stared at you blankly, his face morphing into more confusion.

“But you are a precaution.” He said, “That's the whole reason why Laswell put you here.” It was like he was explaining something to a child.

You huffed, “Captain. With all due respect, I'm a part of this team whether we like it or not. I don't want to be treated like an outsider- everyone else here seems to treat me like I belong here so why don't you? What's not to trust?” You questioned, your eyebrows pinched together and your lips pressed into a not-so-subtle frown.

“You don't belong here, though,” Price said frostily. “You're here for a year [Name], no more, no less. You belong to a different task force, so excuse me if I treat you as such.”

You stood there, stunned for a moment. A familiar feeling of resentment bubbling up inside you like the electric tea kettle. Your hands squeezed the ceramic of your mug, “Just because I'm not here to stay doesn't mean I'm any less committed to my job. I work my ass off every day to show you that I belong here. I just don’t understand why you’re too stubborn to even see that.” You huffed.

Price pursed his lips into a tight line, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer. “I don't have time to micro-manage everything you do. That's not stubborn; it's having other responsibilities besides making you feel included.”

Well, if he hadn't made you feel like a toddler before, he definitely was now. “Well, that's funny because you seem to do a perfectly good job at micromanaging everything I do despite your ‘lack of free time.’ And- I’m not asking you to make me feel included; I’m not an infant. I’m asking you to treat me with the same respect you treat everyone else with.” You hissed.

It didn’t surprise you how quickly the polite interaction with him turned into another bitter argument. When it came to Price, emotions ran high. Higher than you would like to admit.

“Maybe if you stopped acting like a child, I would respect you more.” He bit back, and you groaned, throwing your hands up in the air.

“I’m not though- I’m clearly telling you the problem between us. But since you have this…this grudge against me you won’t even listen to me.” You huffed.

Price shot you a look that said, ' I'm winning this argument, and there is nothing you can say to stop that.’ 

Internally, you wondered if getting dishonorably discharged was worth throwing hot tea into your captain's stupid face. Instead, you decided to look away, setting your mug on the counter with a sharp ‘clank.’ “Fine then, don't listen to me. That works, too.” You breathed through your teeth.

Price downed the rest of his coffee, throwing his head back and then setting his mug upside down in the small sink. He turned his whole body to you, crossing his arms. His blue eyes narrowed, and his eyebrows pinched together in scrutiny. “You want me to listen? Go ahead. Say what you want; I'm all ears.”

Your voice died in your throat. As much as you wanted to give him a piece of your mind, you didn't put up much of a fight against him, especially not with his ‘I'm the Captain, and you are one word away from cleaning toilets’ voice.

You pressed your lips together in a tight line, and the silence between you hung dangerously quiet for another moment. “Nothing, Captain.” You said through your teeth.

Price nodded, his eyes drilling holes into you, “That's what I thought. Now, it better stay that way for the duration of the next week or so help me; I will take away every privilege you have.” With that, he promptly turned on his heel and stormed out. Leaving you, a seething statue.

You looked down at his mug, still held tightly in your hand. You glared at the painted fish, “Fuck you.” You whispered to the watercolor salmon. Your frown deepened, substantially disappointed that whispering ‘fuck you’ to your Captain's mug didn't carry the same satisfaction you'd feel if you said it straight to his face.

Arguing with him was like arguing with a brick wall. Scratch that. Arguing with Price was worse than arguing a brick wall, a brick wall wouldn't intimidate you and then storm off.

You didn't feel like finishing your tea anymore. You grit your teeth together, dumping the liquid into the sink and watching as it slides down the drain. You had a few days before the mission, and you were going to make sure that you didn't fuck anything up. Lest you suffer the wrath of Price and your own self-doubt.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“Shit!”

Your head snapped toward the voice, even with the night vision gear you had everything was difficult to identify. It was safe to say you weren't a fan.

It had been 72 hours since you landed in Urzikstan, and 4 hours since you left the checkpoint base. If you had to guess, it was most likely around 0300 standard military time. Which meant you and the rest of 141 only had another two hours before you had to evacuate and hop on the trucks back to the checkpoint.

Your orders were simple enough, break into the compound and locate the underground terror group that was allegedly creating a bio-warfare laboratory. While it wasn't concreated information British and American SAS couldn't risk not sending a team to see if the tip was accurate. Being the genuine pigs of the situation didn't sit right with you but you weren't employed for your opinion on what the government chose to do and not do.

Still, being sent on a wild goose chase or worse into a trap made you more on edge. Everyone had paired up in case this was a setup and because the universe could never let you win you were grouped with Price. Which brought you back to the present moment.

“Price whats going on? talk to me.” You said in response to his curse. Trying to keep your voice as low as you could while still being audible. You weren't an expert but typically someone hissing ‘shit!’ wasn't a good sign.

In the split second before he could respond you heard the click. Along with the sound of Price’s footsteps trying to get out of the way, then came the sharp boom of a gun being fired. Only after the sound had left the barrel of the gun did you see it. The building wasn't finished, half of the construction was halted, leaving rooms unfinished, walk-offs, and random piles of rubble. Hidden behind a cement pillar a floor above, looking down at you was a person. More importantly a person behind a giant ass gun.

Shit!

You immediately threw yourself out of the way, ducking yourself behind a large amount of rubble. Your eyes scanned for Price in the darkness, frantically making sense of the objects around you. Another fire. Followed by another one. You didn't have time to look for Price. You turned your body, shielded by the debris, and pointed your gun up. It didn't take long before you locked onto the figure, you drew your breath in and pulled the trigger. The firing stopped.

You peered up over the rubble just in time to see the limp body flop over the drop-off and slam into the concrete. You were met with a deafening silence, “Price you copy?”

After a moment you heard someone move, “Yeah-” Your shoulders dropped, a breath you didn't realize you were holding escaped. You never thought hearing that deep British voice would ever make you this relieved. “Yeah, I copy.” He breathed. You stood, carefully making your way over to the corpse of your attacker. Looking down at the body, their face hidden by a cloth and glazed-over eyes looking up at the ceiling.

You grimaced, it was like looking at a dead fish. You looked up, nobody else was above. The only thing remaining was the unaccompanied sniper.

“This guy was alone.” You said, eyebrows furrowing. “And his aim was shit.” You deadpanned. Your head turned, expecting to meet Price. But were only greeted by an empty space, “Price?” You asked looking around.

“Over here.” He gruffed, you turned around. Price was standing next to a wall, his palm flat against its surface. It was like he was leaning against it, your eyes narrowed. His left leg was slightly raised off the ground, something wasn't right.

You jogged over to him, “What's the matter?” you asked, because of the night vision goggles coupled with the amount of gear he was wearing you couldn't see his face well. However, you didn't miss the way his jaw flexed. Before he could respond you pinpointed the issue. The leg that was raised had a small bullet-sized hole in his boot.

“Shit.” You breathed.

This really wasn't what you needed. You and Price had to be out of the compound in the next hour and a half, being shot in the foot was a major problem. At least it wasn't an organ, you thought. “Can you still walk?” You asked.

Price put his foot on the ground, putting his weight on it. You cringed as he let out a quiet hiss, “Yeah just fuckin’ hurts like hell.” He took a step, he was limping but he could walk. Which was a small win for both of you. Just as you opened your mouth someone spoke in your ear piece.

“[Name], Price, you copy? We heard shots.” The voice was grave, deep, with a thick British accent. Ghost.

Price answered, “We’re fine. Bastard with a sniper nicked my foot. Did any of you find the lab yet?” He said through clenched teeth, despite your dislike of your captain you felt a little guilty. If you'd seen the shooter before Price would probably be fine.

“We just found it, nobody’s here. S’a fuckin’ ghost town… no pun intended.” Ghost’s staticky voice rang in your ear, if you were in a better situation you might have laughed. Your eyebrows furrowed and you frowned.

“That makes no sense.” You chimed in, “If this guy was here there should be more people. It doesn't make sense for only one person to be set up here.” You looked at Price. His head was already turned to look at you. It was a beat before anyone spoke again.

“Price.” A raspy Scottish accent this time. Soap. “The labs empty, no inventory at all. Everything is sterile.” You felt your throat run dry, the silence on the radio spoke louder than anything you or anyone else could say. Either they evacuated before the team had gotten there or the whole building was a ruse.

You looked back at the corpse lying a few feet away from you and Price. “They knew we were coming.” You breathed. The weight of your words seemed to carry for miles, but the implications might have been worse. You looked at Price, the same thoughts you had probably already running through his head. “We need to fucking leave, right now.”

Price gave a small nod, “Everyone get out. Gaz, call for emergency evac now. Leave the same way we came do not under any circumstances go further into this building.” Price demanded. Which was followed by a series of ‘copies.’ You started for the way you entered, just as you reached the empty doorframe you heard a grunt behind you. You looked back, fuck. You forgot Price was hurt, fuck, fuck, fuck. He could walk but there was no way he could run with his foot.

You doubled back, and as you ran to him Price raised his hands. Almost in protest, “I can keep up, I'm not immobile.” He exhaled, and you shot him an unimpressed look. The situation was bad enough, you weren't going to deal with this. You couldn't waste time and walking on a bad foot would only worsen it for Price in the long run.

You grabbed his arm and slung it over your shoulder, one arm grabbed the back of his vest, holding his side up so his injured foot didn't hit the floor. It wasn't the most comfortable but it worked.

Price opened his mouth but you spoke before he could get a word in. “You can't keep up and you know it. Whatever problems we have don't matter right now, we've got to get out of here. God knows what the people who were here before us did to this place. But we don't have time to think about that-” Your eyes met his, the red hue of the night vision goggles making his navy eyes seem black. “-I’d much rather keep you alive but I would gladly die with you than have it be my fault that you die. So shut the fuck up and move.”

That seemed to do the trick because Price did in fact, shut the fuck up. You quickly exited with Price. It wasn't as fast as you would've liked to leave but it was the best you could do with a six-foot tank of a man leaning against you.

A few minutes later you and Price successfully made it out. The rest of the team was already waiting a ways away from the building, you let out a relieved sigh. Just being out of the compound seemed to lift a weight off your chest and calm your racing heart. Price seemed to feel the same way judging by his taunt muscles relaxing slightly.

You made your way over to the team, Ghost was the first to notice you. He did a slight double-take as he saw Price, “Thought you said the bloke nicked you?” He commented, you gently released Price letting him lean against the outside wall of an abandoned house.

Price grunted, “Yeah well he nicked me good.” He said back, Ghost nodded. Soap and Gaz peered at the bloody hole in his boot, “That’s gonna be a pain to heal I’ll tell you that.” Soap commented, and Gaz nodded along. “No kidding.”

Price’s frown deepened, and he let out a breath. “Gaz how long till evac trucks pick us up?” Gaz looked out at the open area then looked back, “I’d say twenty minutes give or take.” That answer seemed to give Price a little peace.

A few minutes had gone by, and Soap, Ghost, and Gaz were all talking with you while Price leaned against the wall silently. You glanced at your Captain, gingerly making your way over you leaned against the wall a few inches away from him. You didn't know what to say if you should say anything for that matter. Making conversation with Price wasn't your strong suit, but you felt bad.

“So…you okay?” You asked dumbly, Price gave you a look that made you want to go right back to the others. He was silent for a beat before speaking. “I got shot in the foot [Name], you tell me.” He deadpanned.

You swallowed, nodding. Asshole. No matter, you decided to take it in stride, “Right.” You breathed, “I just… wanted to check.” On second thought maybe you really should leave, it was like you were communicating with an alien. And after your last argument with Price, you walked on eggshells whenever you were around him.

The stretch of silence between the two of you lasted longer than you would've liked. But after a moment Price cleared his throat and nodded, “Thank you.” He said.

You did a bit of a double-take, thank you? Price never thanked you. It was like he was allergic to congratulating or acknowledging you in any form that wasn't to reprimand you. You must've looked as confused as you felt by the way he glanced at you and then went on. “For helping me out of there, you were prepared for the worst back there and you still had my back. I appreciate that-”

“-you uh, you did good.” He clarified.

Your mouth was probably hanging open at this point, ‘you did good.’ The words hung in the air around you, filling your ears with cotton. Price your captain, Price your mortal enemy had praised you. He gave you a sideways glance, “Don't look so shocked [Name], you're still on thin ice.”

Ah, there it was, your shoulders slumped. It was better than nothing though, “Right, uhm thank you.” You said a bit awkwardly, Price gave you a small nod in return. It wasn't much, but it was acknowledgment.

After some time passed by you and the rest of 141 loaded into the trucks, starting the long drive to the checkpoint base. You tried to lean your head back and get just a little bit of rest, but after thirty minutes of failing to do so, you gave up. There was just too much in your head, too many unanswered questions. You thought about the man you'd killed, why was he there? What was the use of evacuating a building if you just left a single sniper with terrible aim lying in wait for someone to come looking around?

Did that mean they didn't know 141 specifically was coming? The question that worried you the most was the fact that if they did plan for you to raid the lab, who on the inside was feeding these people your team's operations? You shuddered. It was bad enough that commanding officer Shepard went rogue a few months prior. The SAS really didn't need another mole. Especially considering the amount of enemies the American and British military had made.

Your shoulders slumped, it didn’t really matter, what mattered was that everyone made it out. You didn’t want to think about what would’ve happened if the previous occupants had left explosives inside the building. It was better to just be thankful that nothing happened.

Your first operation with 141 had been a bust, but considering the circumstances you thought it went as well as it could’ve. Not counting Price’s foot.

Subconsciously your eyes drifted over to Price, his boot had been taken off and his foot was wrapped in white garb. Just until someone could look at it properly, everyone had taken their night visions and helmets off to get some shut-eye. Your gaze drifted up until they met his face, navy eyes met yours. You froze, you hadn't realized Price was awake. The two of you didn't break eye contact for a minute, almost like a challenge of who would be the first to look away.

“You make a habit of staring at people or is it just me?” He deadpanned. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, he could never let you catch a break, could he?

“I wasn't staring, and you were looking at me too.” You defended, it didn't matter if you were staring, he wouldn't get the satisfaction of hearing you confess that. One of his thick eyebrows raised, “I glanced at you. There's a difference, you just happened to look up at the same time.” He said back, calm as ever.

You half rolled your eyes, he could word it however he wanted to, but in the end, it was pretty much the same thing. “Okay, keep telling yourself that.” You hummed, matching his nonchalance. Your gaze dropped back down to his bandaged foot, “How’s the foot?” You asked, hoping he wouldn't catch you changing the subject.

Price grunted, his head lulling back onto the seat. You shot a glance at his adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down before averting your eyes. “Feels like I got shot in the foot, so…not great. It's better than an organ so I won't complain that much.” He breathed.

You nodded, “You ever been shot before?” you asked, what could you say? You were curious. He nodded, clearing his throat he cast his head down to look at his chest. One of his hands pulled up his bullet vest and shirt revealing the beginnings of his abdomen, right above his hip bone there was a small scar. “Two years ago, caught me while I was down. Took forever to heal, fuckin’ hurt like hell too.”

You zeroed in on the exposed skin, it was all muscle, no surprises there. The man was built like a 4x6 brick, his skin was shiny with sweat, and from what you could see his bullet scar wasn't the only one that littered his skin. Just below the dipped fabric of his shirt was the start of a happy trail. You swallowed.

What the fuck was wrong with you? A few days ago you were plotting how you could murder him and now you're ogling a sliver of his stomach like a horny teen girl.

You absolutely did not find a single part of your boss attractive. Forget your first interaction with him when you were practically gaping over him like a fish. That didn't count. This was Price you were talking about. Sure, he was conventionally attractive with just the right amount of ruggish charm to make him mysterious. And yeah, he was built like a tank, so what? And you couldn't forget about his stupid fucking British accent, who the hell was into British accents anyways? (You were. Embarrassingly so.)

Price looked up at you, the silence making you raise an eyebrow. “See something you like aye?” He said, amusement dripping from his voice. Your eyes immediately snapped back to his face, embarrassment churning away at your insides.

“You wish,” You said back. So maybe you found some parts of your Captain hot, that didn't matter. In the end, it was still Price. And the flames of hatred don't die out just because one's enemy is a little (a lot) attractive.

Price breathed out what sounded like a laugh, he dropped the shirt. “Keep telling yourself that [Name].” Your fists squeezed together as he threw your words back at you.

You glared at him, “You're so full of it you know that?” You breathed, which only seemed to pique his interest further. You were glad the rest of the team was either sleeping or so used to your fighting that at this point they tuned you out. Jumping off a cliff seemed nice in comparison to the ruthless teasing that Soap and Ghost would enact if they found out you'd been caught ogling Price.

“Didn't realize this would strike a nerve, any particular reason why?” He said, you grimaced. You could almost taste the smugness from his tongue like syrup, “It didn't.” You said through your teeth, “Then again, egotistical men are a pain to be around. Especially ones that think everyone around them wants them.” You grumbled.

Your words seemed to have the opposite effect, Price straightened. A small tug at his lip made you want to slap that smirk right off. “I never said you wanted me, but liars always do have a way of telling on themselves don't they?” He grinned.

Something flashed in his eyes, you didn't have time to see what it was. But right now, all your willpower was devoted to not picking up your gun and giving him a matching hole in his right foot. “I think I'd rather shoot myself than be anything but professional with you.” You said frostily.

Price hummed, the smirk never leaving his face and he leaned back. “Glad the feeling is mutual.” He spoke calmly.

Your eye twitched, he was pulling that card now. Reverse physiology or whatever it was, the ‘I don't have to want you but you have to want me.’ Well too bad you didn't care, you couldn't care less. If Price didn't want you that was great-better even.

“Yeah,” You huffed, “Super glad.” You turned your head away so you didn't have to look in his direction. Maybe you should've left him in that building, it was a tempting thought. The rest of the drive back to the checkpoint was spent in silence.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The base felt dreary, everyone was still in a funk from the previous night. Everything felt just a bit more surreal, nobody was talking about what happened either. Not that there really was anything to discuss.

The checkpoint base wasn't as nice as your previous base. It wasn't even a full building, there were a few small ones but those were mostly used to store weapons. Everything else was industrial-sized tents, making privacy a luxury. It didn't even have a proper barracks, just a large tent with several stretcher-like beds placed in rows. To be completely honest the entire thing was a pile of shit. But it was a roof over your head so there was that.

You sat at a bench in the ‘commons,’ a poor excuse for food sitting in front of you. Gaz sat next to you while Ghost and Jhonny sat across from you. They all had similar grimaces plastered on their faces as they ate their protein paste.

“If I have to eat this shite for another day I'm going to go into that food storage room and light the thing up. They got us eating like dogs.” Ghost said after draining the last of his rations. You half-heartedly agreed, humming a sound of approval that was accompanied by Gaz’s small chuckle.

Soap grinned, “Don't get yer panties in a twist just yet L.T, heard they're serving dessert paste too. Courtesy of Price’s injury.”

You shivered, it sounded just as bad if not worse. Then a thought popped up, you looked around the common space. “Hey, you guys seen Price? Isn't he eating?” You hadn't seen him for almost the entire day, which was a blessing for you but it did strike you as odd when normally you couldn't get rid of him.

Gaz shrugged, “He was in the medical tent last time I saw him. The guy was getting his foot looked at, he’ll probably show up soon.”

Ghost turned his head to face you, while it was a little hard to tell with his balaclava, one of his eyebrows raised. “Awful concerned about Price aren't you? Thought you hated the man.” Your lips curled into an exasperated frown.

“I'm not. And I do hate him. I was just curious.” You brushed him off, trying to avoid his stony gaze. Soap and Gaz exchanged looks that made your eyebrows furrow.

Gaz looked at you, “What about the other day when you helped him out of the building?” Soap was next to chime in, “Or that you use his mug all the time and he lets you?”

You shot Gaz a glare, “First, he's still my Captain I'm not going to leave him in a building where I think he's going to die.” Then you directed a similar glare at Soap, “Second, I didn't know it was his mug because you tricked me into thinking the mugs were communal.” You said through your teeth.

Ghost smirked, “Sounds like you care.”

Your hands gripped the table with unnecessary force. “I do not.” You defended, the looks exchanged between them made you want to crawl into a hole. Suddenly you weren't as inclined to finish your meal. You stood, grabbing your tray of half-eaten food and trash. “I'm not hungry anymore.” You said dryly.

Soap laughed, faking a disappointed frown. “Come on lass we were just getting started with ya. Where's the fun in leaving before the real jokes start?” You rolled your eyes, stepping out of the bench and walking towards the trash.

“Jokes are supposed to be funny,” you replied as you dumped the remanence of your ‘lunch’ in the trash. Just as you were exiting the tent Soap's voice called out to you.

“Oh, if you see the old fart, tell him his dessert paste is waiting for him!” That earned an amused tug at the corner of your lips, shaking your head in exasperation as you pushed past the floppy tent entrance.

You didn't even make it a foot outside before your momentum was halted by a larger mass. Your face met something hard, but also somehow soft at the same time. You stumbled back, gaining back your balance from the force of running into something. Or more specifically, someone. You looked up in dismay to see what kind of idiot ran into you.

It was Price, because of fucking course it was.

But it was Price with the addition of a single crutch and a newly wrapped foot. Your eyes slowly crept up to his face, the mortifying reality that you slammed right into his chest setting in. What’s worse was that the previous conversation with the guys was still very fresh in your mind.

‘Sounds like you do care,’ Ghost’s words echoed in your mind, haunting you like a…well a ghost. Ironic.

“Do you mind?” Price's words snapped you out of your trance. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. It was silent for a moment before your vocal cords decided to actually comply and let you speak.

“You ran into me.” You said lamely, the tips of your ears felt hot. Like lava was slowly being poured onto your head. Price’s eyebrows furrowed, his navy eyes studying you. Even on one crutch, he seemed to tower over you in a way that made you antsy.

“Why are you red?” He asked, the question caught you off guard. Making you falter for a second time, “I-What?”

Price’s eyes narrowed a bit, a finger pointed directly at you. “Your face. It's red,” It wasn't a jab, more like he was observing a simple fact. Suddenly you became hyper-aware of the heat spreading across your face. You touched your cheek, and the pads of your fingers burned at the touch.

Oh my god.

Your face was hot, it was flushed. You were blushing. Blushing. In front of Price.

You swallowed, feeling a bob in your throat. It was like you were in one of those dreams where you showed up to school naked. “I'm allergic-” You blurted out.

A beat of silence ensued, and Price raised a single brow. “Allergic?” He said, to which you responded with a hard nod. Think, think- what was a believable lie? “Yes… to the dessert paste.”

Price didn't look skeptical now, he just looked downright confused. “What the hell is dessert paste?” He questioned, while a good question, you didn't want to stand around to explain it to him while your face looked like the cover of a period ad. You shook your head, steering around him like a robot.

“Ask soap.” You said as you made your escape, “I'm going to the med tent so I don't go into anaphylactic shock.”

That was a lie, you were going to the bathroom to rethink your career and splash cold water on your face. Leaving Price a standing statue, a perplexed look on his face.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

A pack of 8 beers was slammed down onto the small table in front of where you were sitting. The bottles lightly clanked together, you looked up. “What’s this?” You asked, Soap stood in front of you with a confident grin.

“This is how we’re going to make it through our last 10 hours in this shit hole.” He proclaimed, his hands on his hips.

It was late, everyone but Price was in the sleeping tent. True to Soap’s words, in 10 hours you and the rest of 141 were finally going to load up into the heli and return to the original base. Thank goodness too, you didn't think you could stomach another meal here. Ghost looked over from his cott, “The hell did you get that from?”

Soap waved him off, smoothing over his poor example of a mohawk. “A magician never reveals his secrets.” He fished into his pant pocket and pulled out a pocket knife, grabbing one of the bottles he flicked the cap off with a soft pop’ “Since it is our last night, why not celebrate?” He went on.

You eyed the pack suspiciously, if it came from here it was probably shit beer. But it was still something, you shrugged. You reached for one, “I'll take what I can get.” You sighed.

Grabbing a bottle you snatched Soap’s knife to knock off the cap. Throwing your head back as you took a generous swig, it burned down your throat. The pungent flavor making your nose scrunch and your mouth curl. Soap did the same, smacking his lips as he swallowed. “Well…It could be worse.” He muttered.

Ghost and Gaz followed suit, walking over to your space and grabbing two bottles. After some time had passed the four of you had settled into a sort of circle, you were two beers in and things were already getting fuzzy. You didn't normally drink, mostly because you were a lightweight. But when you did drink, you got drunk. You were tipping your head back with laughter at every story, the warmth in your stomach making the tent somehow feel cozy.

Soap reached for his third bottle but Gaz swatted his hand away, “Leave some for Price Jhonny.” He scolded, Soap simply rolled his eyes and groaned. “The old man won't care, he only drinks at those shitty pubs. He's a stickler bout not drinkin’ on base, something about ‘not mixing business with pleasure’” He mocked, doing in your opinion, a decent Price impression. You chucked.

“I don't think Price takes ‘pleasure’ in anything, he's such a stick up the ass he wouldn't know fun if it hit him in the face.” You breathed, and while not the most articulate thing to say, your tongue and thoughts were loose enough that you didn't care.

Ghost’s mouth curled into a knowing smirk, “For someone who hates Price, you sure do love to talk about him any chance someone brings him up.” He said smugly, earning snickers from both Soap and Gaz.

“Oh fuck off will you?” You grumbled to Ghost, this whole teasing you about Price thing was getting old fast. “I say one thing and you guys act like I have some schoolgirl crush on him.”

Soap grinned, “You said it lass, not us.” He coughed abruptly when you smacked him in the stomach, making him lean forward to catch his breath. You glanced at Ghost who’s hands were now raised in surrender.

“Come off it [Name], we’re just teasing, you're not doing yourself any favors by acting with him the way you do.” He commented, which only confused you. All you did was argue with him, where was there room for speculation? The look on your face must've told them everything they needed to know.

“What do I do that gives off that impression even remotely?” You said defensively, they all exchanged looks.

Soap spoke up, “It's not just you bonnie, Price acts differently around you too. It just gives off a certain impression. Some people just take it the wrong way.” There was an underlying uncomfortableness to his words that you didn't miss. And who were ‘some people??’

Ghost smacked him upside the head, earning a startled grunt. “Fuckin’ twat, Soap doesn't know what he's saying.” Ghost said facing you. “He's already tipsy, don't take what he's saying to heart.” Soap was holding his head, shooting a glare at the lieutenant.

You shook your head, not ready to let it go. “No, who's some people? And what did you mean when you said ‘taking it the wrong way?’” Your eyes narrowed in on all three of them, waiting for someone to speak first. Gaz looked away, immediately giving him away as the weakest link. “Gaz what's he talking about?” You asked firmly.

He tensed up, glancing at Ghost and then back to you. “It's really nothing, it's just a silly rumor.” Ghost shot him a firm look, “Kyle-” He warned.

A rumor? What the hell was there to talk about? The last time you'd heard of a rumor going around about yourself was in high school, it wasn't a pleasant experience, to say the least. Your lips pursed into a tight line, something about how secretive they were being set you off. “What rumor?” You said, after a minute of silence, you slowly got more frustrated. “If it's about me I deserve to know.”

Ghost didn't speak, neither did Gaz, but Soap did. He blew out a sigh, glancing back at Ghost who was maintaining strict eye contact with you. “There is a bit of a widespread rumor back at base that you've been shaggin’ the boss. People started calling you Captain’s Girl.”

The pit of your stomach dropped.

You felt dizzy, looking between the three of them. Waiting for one of them to break, to smile and say ‘got you!’ but it never came. “You're joking right?” You said, laughing nervously, the longer the silence the more nauseous you became.

Ghost shook his head, his eyes hard but his demeanor a bit solemn. “We didn't want you to know for obvious reasons. Thought it would make things worse between the two of ya’ and it was just too far.” You swallowed, this was a joke. This was a joke and they were just teasing. When nobody spoke after the reality set in.

Of course, this would happen to you, you worked your ass off just to be respected in a field dominated by men. You were asked to be a part of 141. But all people saw was a slut who worked her way up the ladder by playing Miss ‘Hard to Get.’

“We tried to stop it as best we could trust us, it's just a little hard to keep quiet when word spreads fast,” Gaz interjected, his eyebrows scrunched in…guilt? Second-hand embarrassment? Sadness? You couldn't tell.

You sat there in silence, processing everything. “But- but I'm not. I'm not sleeping with him.” You sputtered.

Soap placed a hand on your shoulder, “We know you ain't. You don't need to listen to those people anyways, it's just barrack talk, people needing a story to make their lives more interesting.” A well of emotions started to flood your senses, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the gravity of the situation hitting you.

Captain’s girl.

What. The. Fuck.

This was Price’s fault. It had to have been, Soap said he was acting weird. Maybe this was all his elaborate plan to destroy your career and kick you off 141 for fraternization. It had to have been him, right? You weren't thinking as clearly as you would have liked considering you were borderline drunk, but that didn't matter. You shot up from where you were sitting, making Soap jump.

Stumbling you started to make a beeline for the entrance, Gaz also got up and followed you, much to your chagrin. “[Name]? Where are you going??” He called after you.

“To find Price!” (And kill him.) You shouted back angrily, storming outside before Gaz had the chance to stop you. Obviously, you didn't think this through enough because it was pitch dark outside. And Price was nowhere in sight, fuck.

Whatever, you could search this place for hours if you had to. He was bound to pop up somewhere, like how the tide is drawn to the moon you and Price always had a way of being pulled into each other. You stormed through the dark, almost tripping on your own feet once or twice in the process.

You'd been there long enough that you could tell what area was what. Even in the pitch-black cloak of the dark, you could feel your heartbeat in your head. It was like your body was pulsing with the rhythm of your anger. Just as you were about to start shouting his name a light caught your eye. You swiveled your neck so fast it burned the muscles in your nape. Low and behold it was Price walking out of the medical tent with his single crutch.

He stopped when he noticed you, his face a mix of confusion. “What are you doing? I thought I told you guys not to go outside after lights out?”

You felt every emotion rush back to you at the sound of his voice, the sight of his face, the fucking absurdity of the whole situation. Your hands clenched into fists, “What the fuck is wrong with you?! I thought you sucked before but I underestimated how much of a jackass you could be!”

Price stood there like a deer caught in headlights, so baffled he couldn't even speak. “Excuse me?”

You marched straight up to him, “You heard me. Apparently making my life a living hell wasn't enough for you was it? You sadistic fuck. Do you get off on torturing me? Is that it?” You spat. The heat in your face rising with each word.

He didn't say anything, his navy eyes looking at you like you belonged in an insane asylum. After a minute of silence, he breathed, “[Name]. Realistically I should be laying into you right now and giving you every single punishment there is for the rest of your stay here for cursing me out after lights out with no provocation on my end. But, I'm going to give you one chance to explain why you're acting like a screaming banshee before I send your ass straight to the bins.”

His words only ticked you off further, well two could play dumb. “You know exactly why I'm angry! No provocation is such bullshit. You- You just think I'm so stupid don't you?!” You were stumbling, your mouth felt heavy. It was like your mind was moving faster than your body could keep up with.

“Are you drunk?” He asked incredulously. You shook your head, “No! I mean yes I had a few drinks but I'm not drunk. Stop deflecting-” You rambled on.

His eyes turned to narrow slits, “I don't even know what I'm deflecting- you can't just start making a scene and expect me to know why you're angry. I'm not a mind reader.” He groaned.

“The name! The rumor- whatever you call it. You spread a rumor about me to the entire base that I'm sleeping with you! People are calling me your girl! The guys told me, everyone thinks I'm some slut because of you!” Everything in your body was burning, it felt good to finally yell at him but the words hit you hard.

You were labeled as the slut. No matter what you did there was always going to be a man overshadowing you just because of a preemptive notion that you were weaker. Something you'd spent your life fighting was now your reality.

Price’s eyes went wide, he almost resembled a wooden board. For a moment his eyes softened, like he was taking pity on you. “That's what this is about.” He breathed, “Look, I’m just as upset about that rumor and the name as you are. I don't know who started it but I can give you my word it wasn't me. You can ask any one of the guys and they will tell you the same thing.”

You started to speak but he raised a hand to stop you, “-I know it's not fair. But the damage has already been done, the thing about rumors is that they pass. And nobody thinks you're a slut. You're just as capable as anyone else on this team.” He said calmly.

It was silent for a moment. You didn't really know what to do or what to believe. All you had to go on was his word, which wouldn't normally hold much weight but something about him seemed so genuine. “I- how do I know you're not lying to my face? You hate me. And I’m just supposed to believe a random person made this rumor up when you've been trying to kick me off the team from the start.”

Price halted for a moment, his face reflecting a series of conflicting emotions. “I don't hate you, and I am not trying to kick you off.”

“Well, it sure as hell doesn't seem that way, even Soap said you act differently around me. I don't understand why you fucking hate me so much when almost all I ever do is try and suck up to you!” You shouted, your voice slightly slurring with how fast the words escaped your lips.

A vein bulged in Price’s temple, his jaw working with his growing temperament. “I don't know how often we have to go through this same conversation before you get it through your thick head. I don't hate you, I'm hard on you. There's a difference.”

“Well, that's not what it looks like to me. Especially not to the mystery person who just conjured a rumor that we’re sleeping together out of thin air.” You seethed, until now you'd been standing a few feet away from him. But somehow, amid the argument, you found yourself now uncomfortably close.

Price scowled down at you, “What do you want me to say to you?! That I'm sorry I also got caught up in some dumb rumor. That I'm sorry you got your feelings hurt because I was a little harsh.”

Your mind was telling you to communicate your feelings like a normal person. The alcohol and your heart told you your fist connecting with his face was the better option. And right now, your heart (plus the alcohol) was winning.

“I want you to fucking show me you don't hate me! You can say all you want that I'm just being dramatic but there's obviously a reason why I think you hate me.” You fired back.

The two of you stood there for a moment, his eyes drilling into yours. A scowl on Price’s lips and his eyebrows pinched together, there was something about the heat of the moment that made you more on edge. You were hyperaware of everything around you, most importantly you were hyperaware of your proximity to him. The night air was cold but you were on fire.

“You want me to show you? Fine.” He grit out, and before you had time to react he was on you.

His hand was on your neck, thick and warm. Pulling you close so that his lips captured yours in what you could only describe as ‘a hungry kiss.’ The coarse hair of his beard tickled your skin and before you even knew what you were doing, you started kissing him back.

Fuck. He tasted like smoke and whiskey, a woody smell clung to him like sap. Greedily your hands pulled at him, your fingers bunching the cotton of his shirt like he'd disappear. You'd kissed men before but never in your life had anyone kissed you like this. The kiss was hot, desperate, almost angry. His tongue slid along yours, you felt the drag of his teeth nip at your bottom lip and his throaty groan when you only pulled him closer.

You couldn't remember why he was kissing you, or why you started kissing him back. You didn't know why you were so angry, nor did you pay mind to the chance that anyone could walk outside and see the two of you.

You heard his crutch absentmindedly fall to the ground, clattering against the hard dirt. Price's other hand snaked to the back of your head, curling his thick digits into the locks of your hair. His nose brushed against yours, he felt so warm. Asshole or not this man knew how to kiss.

“[Name]!”

Gaz’s voice broke you out of the trance you seemed to have been under. Immediately you and Price tore apart, your heart jackhammered in your ribcage. You looked at Price, he looked at you.

His blue eyes were blown wide, his lips parted and shiny with the reminisce of your spit. A reddish tinge colored his ears and cheeks. He looked horrified.

You didn't fair much better. You probably looked like a gaping fish. You'd just kissed Price. Price had kissed you. You two had been kissing. Holy shit.

Footsteps snapped your attention away from him, Gaz ran to meet you. His breath heavy like he’d been running around for a good amount of time. “[Name] Price didn’t start the rumor- you left before I could tell you. I-” He stopped, his eyes darting between both you and Price. You probably looked as guilty as you felt. “I…uhm I guess you two worked it out?”

There was an awkward silence before anyone spoke, Price cleared his throat, quickly wiping his lips. “She’s aware… You two go back to the tent, it’s late. We leave early tomorrow so get a good sleep.”

You were still in shock, could you even move your limbs? Another silence hovered over the three of you like a looming dust cloud. Gaz awkwardly shuffled to you, patting your shoulder as if to say ‘party's over, let’s go.’ He nodded at Price, “Right, see you in the morning Cap.”

Before you knew it, your legs were moving as Gaz led you back to the tent. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, “You alright?” He said hesitantly. You didn't know what to say to him, you didn't even know what you were feeling. And you doubted saying, ‘Honestly I don't know because two seconds ago Price's tongue was down my throat and I can't tell if I'm turned on or horrified,’ was appropriate.

So, you settled for a simple: “I’m fine.” Gaz gave you a skeptical look, but he chose not to comment on it. Once you got back to the tent Soap and Ghost had already started to get into their respective cots. Soap gave you a funny look over his shoulder, “What happened to you? You look shell-shocked.” He laughed.

You didn't even have the energy to respond, giving him a disgruntled grimace in return. You fell into your cot, burying your face into the thick sleeping bag. Your cheeks burned, and the taste of Price still lingered on your lips.

Apart of you wished that you were blackout drunk, then maybe it would be easier knowing whatever happened would disappear by the morning. But his groans, his hands in your hair, his lips, they were carved into your brain. And they weren't leaving.

You had to grapple with the reality that Price had kissed you. And you had kissed him back.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Hey, wait! Don't go!

Well… hello there. It's me again! To those of you who aren't familiar, you can call me Baebae. And to those who are welcome back! I've written fanfiction a bit before (check out my other stuff on my home page) but nothing like this. So that makes this special, and I'm happy you can join me while I embark on this new journey.

There is no spice in this chapter but it is coming in the next part. There are only two parts to this so you won’t have to wait that long. Trust me I am trying my best to crank out the next one so I’ll try my best to be quick!!

I would be so, so, so, soooo grateful if you would like, follow, or repost. Don't feel any pressure but I love hearing any feedback you can provide as I am relatively new to this and it spurs me on to know people enjoy what I put out. If you so choose you can message me or comment if you'd like me to @ you in the next part so you're notified. <3

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this and I'll see you in the next part. Toodles! ���( ᐛ )ᕗ

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Part II of Captains Girl!

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

[mina-org]

Now playing art deco

yandere!mafia!141 x reader

likes n reblogs are really appreciated but comments steal my heart frfr

this is like a context post to the other fics coming out!

warning: yandere, stalking, John is a lil misgyonist, all of them are creeps bc this is yandere mafia au, I wouldnt say dead dove but theres stalking and panty stealing and like alluding to murder or disappearing people

word count: 2308

୨୧ What do you once you're trained by the SAS and then abandoned by the military? Years of your life given away, everything you worked towards thrown away. Unable to settle back into who they were before the military they continue into a different career path, one that still utilises violence and timing.

୨୧ After a black ops mission goes south, Task Force 141 are announced MIA, by the very same man who gave them false information hoping to tie up loose ends. Although months and months stuck in Siberia they grew closer as a team and what was once a healthy disrespect for authority turns into a deep, profound hatred. As those seeds of hatred bloom into budding revenge plots they one by one become completely disillusioned with the cause they had dedicated their life to.

୨୧ Simon was the first, he began to snap at the others, annoyed that their hope lingered on. They were supposed to die in that mission and when they weren’t, they were left to freeze to death, they couldn’t trust anyone who wasn't in the tent with them, right then and there. People who you know can hurt you most after all

୨୧ John is second, he had doubts all before Simon but held on to hope, General Shepard had a hand in promoting him to a captain 10 years ago, worked together so often. Simon snapping, the constant freezing temperature and slowly watching his men start to fade, he snapped too. He wasn't just a loose end was? His team definitely weren't loose ends to be tied up in some bullshit suicide mission. John was going to survive this, as would his boys and they’d get back at those who failed them, General Shepard set this up but so many turned around, pretending not to see anything.

୨୧ Kyle and Johnny lost faith as John and Simon go on their rants, they couldn't ignore the truth laid out so clearly. They know where their loyalties lie now, with each other.

୨୧ They couldn't go back to the SAS or any military, they were on their own. Luckily John had money and money talked, his presence also  commanded respect and they had all seen how people ran these organisations. After a recent clamp down on crime back home they were greeted with a power vacuum.

୨୧ London was ripe for the taking and after London? They were going after shepard. 

John Price

୨୧ The Captain who falls for a cafe worker.

୨୧ Possessive and jealous. You really have no idea the effect you have on him do you? Or the rest of your coworkers and customers. His blue eyes filled with an undeniable lust for you, but you never picked up on it. Or the lust that lingering in the eyes of others. He often crosses the line of the boss, bringing you flowers, clothes, those pretty hair clips you wear, even allowing false nails, paying for them when you complain about the recent price increase. You are always so thankful, pretty eyelashes batting, but it didn’t belong to him, yet anyway. You gave them to everyone, never suspicious of what their intentions are. The little touches but not being able to indulge in you yet, tortuous. The lives he’s taken in your name, not too long a list yet but long enough to scare you. You're the reason his cafe has such a high turnover of staff, someone is a little too touchy and john stops putting them on the schedule. All the people you worked with before john took over management were long gone and now people assumed the two of you were dating. Dove. Doll. Love. Petal. Pet You should have told him to stop when he started but you didn't and it wouldn’t have changed anything anyway. He kept you behind after work praising you for work you didn't do, when you opened the store in the early hours of the morning the surprise feeling of someone grabbing your wrist and pulling you into their chest has startled you awake better than any coffee could. You don't notice how his grip tightens ever so slightly around you as your new coworker asks a question, you don't see the death stare either.

୨୧ Delusional. John adores you. The lonely longing and heavenly yearning he felt was the most addicting feeling. You gave him so many smiles, always found yourself bent down giving him a little show he was so grateful for and he never shied away from showing it through tips or pay raises that only you received. John wanted you to know he was a provider, just spread those pretty legs for him and never worry about the cafe or your silly degree again. Your brown sugar and vanilla scent danced on his tongue and haunting his dreams, he imagined you as the perfect homemaker, hopefully you’d be round with his babies by spring, twins ran in his family ya know? 

Simon Riley

୨୧ The Enforcer who falls for a fellow mafia member

୨୧  Stalker. You start to feel something wrong, so wrong. A strong chill pressing down on you, lingering around you, seemingly scaring people away. The chill was always there, seemingly haunting you. Ghost had been hunting, no, watching you for a while, you had popped onto his radar a while ago, Gaz knew you as a friend of a friend, someone who had a knack for creating false documents and getting into systems you have no business being in. A skill set that John needed. The organisation was young, still in their infancy  and they were able to dominate London in a short time but they were still nowhere near their goal and each day General Shepard’s own paranoia sent him further into hiding. They needed access to military files and you would get them there, they had time, enough money to make anyone crack and of course, Simon. a silent, foreboding man. He never spoke to you, just watched as you spoke to his boss. He was standing by the door, so you wouldn't be disturbed, Price explained but you knew the truth, he was standing there so Price got the answer he wanted and would stand between you and freedom until he did. Price didn’t care you had moved on from that part of your life, he assured you the boys in blue were the least of your worries if you didn’t take the deal. 

୨୧ Possessive. You start working for them, you were pliable, in over your head with them, you never said no to Price’s requests, just told him that it would take some time and he was okay with that, he knew you wanted simon away from you as soon as possible and that you wouldn't prolong the tasks. You’d get to their office at 8am and finish at 4. It was almost like a regular job. Ghost still haunted you, keeping you on task and you’d tell him your progress so he could report back to Price. He could tell you didnt like him, or price, making you quit your precious job and now spending your day in a sickening silence. Simon felt like he knew you, imagining your company on the battlefields of his past life and right now all he could do is enjoy your company during the work day and lurk in the shadows of your flat. He hated you, he saw you everywhere, in the petals of flowers, the dainty chains that hung around the neck of rich patrons, delicate feathers that somehow always fall from the sky when you cross his mind. You were so gentle, you’d never survive in this world without him.

୨୧ Obsessive. You somehow made him envious of euthanised dogs. You were so unaware of how much your presence lingers, even in a room, buildings, on him. You infected the air he breathed and he was sick of it, so sick of it. He wanted you out of his head but he feared that the part of you that linger so persistently would only be banished by his own death and he had no time for that.

Johnny

୨୧ The weapon supplier who falls for a stripper

୨୧ Stalker. Weapons, drugs, hell johnny was pretty sure he could get his hands on exotic animals, that wasn't really necessary and would bring some unwanted attention to the young organisation, they had dealt with this before, johnny knew if they gloated, created too much of a splash and the law would come down, sink your rotten roots into local law enforcement, politicians and businesses? A much harder root to pull out. He doesn’t need to be at the club but Ghost used to be there more often than not and he got to be surrounded by beautiful people and great drinks. After nearly losing his dick in the freezing temperatures of Siberia this place seemed like heaven. And seeing you? Johnny knew he was ruined.

୨୧ Manipulative. Johnny is pulling strings. Price doesn’t care too much, you're an attraction and a popular one but your appearances are dwindling and doesn't Johnny deserve to be rewarded for his loyalty and hard work? So when the bouncer you got too touchy with disappears he doesn’t so much as send a bad look his way. Price would do the same, he doesn't want his boys to grow the same resentment he grew, if a pretty little thing helps johnny who is he to stand in the way of young love? Hell, he could do worse. Price is almost impressed with how long it’s taken Johnny. he’s been lying in wait for what? A year now. His jaws wide open, waiting to snap around his prey.

୨୧ Invasive, He hears the sigh of his name slips past your lips, and it’s like music to his ears. He wants to hear more. No, he’s desperate for more, spamming the tip button and suddenly he has all your attention. Johnny knows it’s wrong but the website is public and you don’t have to know that pyromaniac.johnny is also the guy lurking at the strip club. Or that same man is currently hunting for a dirty pair of your panties in your washing basket, just a room away as you put on a ridiculously long video to sleep too. You won’t need that once you're with Johnny, he’ll chat your ear off.

Kyle Garrick

୨୧ The rookie who falls for a love that he missed out on

୨୧ Stalker and obsessive. There was something different about you, something even more different about kyle. You had written it off as him not knowing how to act after he rejected you. Normally, Kyle is pretty outgoing, loud, and always able to capture your attention. Now his once glowing golden presence has rusted and your eyes wander elsewhere. He started following you everywhere, it was his turn to be a lovesick puppy. You kept him going after being stuck in the hellish cold so long, your image warmed him, he imagined coming home and you fawning over him once again. And he came back to you, only you didn’t want him anymore. He was eager to retract his rejection and skip into a nice little marriage with you. But you needed space, and then actively avoided him. He had requested your phone to be tapped, find out how you really felt about him but you didn’t talk about him over the phone, eavesdropped but nothing, checked your diary and nothing, apart from not letting your heart get broken by the same hands twice but even then his name wasn't written down.

୨୧ Jealous. Kyle wasn’t used to this. Made his blood boil, watching you make new friends, go on dates. You didn't revolve around him anymore. Kyle asked to be stationed at your uni, explaining it away as a breeding ground for new recruits and a massive customer base, after all who took more drugs than uni students? After a week he had recruited one of your shared mates, Brooks and he was useful, got a hold of the ropes quick. Kyle and Brooks served together briefly and the military had left a bitter taste in his mouth as well, he felt abandoned when he went into a planned terrorist attack, that everyone knew about, unarmed and was left with life changing injuries. You stayed in the studio flats with other mature students and he had to say the security was lacking, him and Johnny were in there for two hours setting up cameras and no one even asked what they were doing, those false ID cards for nothing. Johnny notices Kyle’s quietness as of late, as do John and Simon. John knows how he feels, coming home to someone who’s moved on, Kyle had dreamt of you for three years and you had spent that time moving on. They all felt for him, Kyle had never been rejected like this, his life before all this shit dangled in front of him, you dangled in front of him and the hurt nearly suffocated him. Kyle knows its wrong and he wants you to be happy, happy with him, so he starts sabotaging any chance you may have with other people, rumours  spread across the uni campus as if its a secondary school, he’ll hears you cry on the phone and your confidence dip lower and lower, until Kyle can swoop in and save you, he would wrap you in his arms and tell you how you wouldn’t need to worry about impressing anyone else. Expect you don’t give a shit, you're too busy getting your masters. Kyle’s shocked about how much you changed and now that lovesick look appears occasionally paired with you singing praises, but never given to him.

[tarysande]

There are a couple more Garrus-Vakarian-related hills I'm willing to die on.

Maybe this particular bit of fanon has faded over the years, but there used to be a lot of insistence that Garrus is young and somehow inexperienced when he meets Shepard. Canon doesn't really support this. Turians start their mandatory service at 15. Garrus has at least a decade of experience. Even if he's 2-4 of years younger than Shepard (according to Patrick Weekes), he's got at least as much field experience as she does by dint of the difference in turian and human "enlistment" ages.

Garrus is really damn good at his job at C-Sec. You don't give the Case of Investigating the Rogue Spectre to a greenhorn. You give it to your best, most tenacious agent. Pallin may not always approve of Garrus's actions, but that doesn't actually stop him from putting Garrus on the tough case. Also, we don't know much about how C-Sec works but we do know a bit about how the turian hierarchy works, and we know C-Sec was essentially a turian initiative. That means it's a meritocracy where failure reflects on the superior, not the one who failed. So, in roughly a decade (Shepard's 29 in ME1; I always think of Garrus as about 27), Garrus has not only done shipboard military service, but he's also risen to be one of C-Sec's top investigators; Pallin wouldn't risk having Garrus's "failure" reflect poorly on HIM otherwise. I'd say that actually makes Garrus as remarkable in civilian law enforcement terms as Shepard is considered to be within the ranks of the Alliance military.

Of course Garrus was scouted by the Spectre program. And honestly, if his dad hadn't stepped in, I think Garrus would have become a Spectre, no problem. Especially for a turian, he's cut from precisely the cloth the Spectres would be looking for: extremely skilled, extremely capable, and--most importantly--he's a turian not just able but willing to work outside the chains of command that turians are taught from birth to revere and be loyal to above all else. This is the reason Pallin is leery about Spectres: he's a good turian. Good turians follow straight lines; they don't carve out their own paths.

Garrus's dad's not dumb, and he's not cruel, and he, too, rose to the top of the C-Sec hierarchy. He took one look at his kid, I think, and said, "I love my child, but I'd say it's a 50-50 chance he ends up a shooting-first-asking-questions-later Spectre like Saren Arterius, and I don't want to see that happen." Yeah, he uses his parental influence to try and jam square-peg-Garrus into round-hole-C-Sec and Garrus resents him for it, but there's no way he did it just to stop his son from getting his way or because he doesn't like Spectres. I expect Vakarian Sr. had to clean up more post-Spectre-interference messes than we can possibly imagine. But we also know he and Alec Ryder were pals later.

So the importance of what Garrus learns from a Paragon Spectre Shepard is this: You can't just do what you want and claim the ends always justify the means. That's what Saren does. Over and over again. Garrus's code and his idealism and his sense of justice and his ability to work alone should make him a great Spectre, actually, but he needs Paragon Spectre Shepard's actions to show him the lesson he tells her he's learned during ME1: "If the people I'm sworn to protect can't trust me... well, then I don't deserve to be the one protecting them." (And the seed of Archangel was planted.) I think for the first time he realizes that even though he believes his sense of justice to be correct, it doesn't matter for shit if he can't show others why that's so. And that's where the trust comes in. (Also, ow, the extra level of importance this gives their exchange where she tells him she trusts him and he tells her she's about the only friend he has left is... a lot. Cool, cool. I'm totally fine. Nothing to see here.)

When Shepard asks him what happened on Omega, he replies, "My feelings got in the way of my better judgement." Something tells me that this never happens to "good" turians, which just makes the line so much more devastating. And although the lesson some might take away from this is "feelings bad; no feelings ever," the "grey" that Garrus has to learn to deal with is precisely the grey of recognizing feelings, validating them even, but not acting on them until they've been examined. (Which is why my Shepard stands between him and Sidonis; she doesn't give a shit about Sidonis. But Garrus has refused to process his own feelings of failure and self-loathing, so they have to take the therapy session to the Citadel and deal with it there.)

Ahh yes. The mountain range of character analysis.

[felassan]

Excerpts from [this] Entertainment Weekly article:

"[Jennifer] Hale believes one of the biggest misconceptions about what they do is the skill required. "The work we do in games — this does not cover performance capture but in voice capture — is 85 to 90 percent cold reading," she says. "The entirety of Mass Effect, I saw no line before the moment I recorded it. It was all cold reading on the spot. A couple takes, maybe a few, and it goes out to market. That's it." She notes that this scenario isn't much different even now. "So voice performers have to be incredibly skilled in the game arena, even more so than in other arenas," Hale continues. "It's extraordinarily demanding." With Mass Effect, one of her more widely recognized projects as the voice of Commander Shepard, Hale remembers a specific experience when she attended the 2010 Spike Video Game Awards (a predecessor to today's Game Awards) as a nominee in the "Best Performance by a Human Female" category. "A voice performer was very much treated like the utensils on the table," she describes. "I really appreciated being invited, but I had an experience where I waited and waited and waited for my category to be announced. I had a 6-month-old at home who I was still nursing. I really was watching the clock. I finally sought out the stage manager toward the end of the show. He goes, 'What's your category?' And I told him the category. He said, 'Oh, we taped that earlier with the winner.' The dismissiveness of it — definitely I felt that.” However, Hale prides herself on the discipline she developed over time to focus less on those moments and more on the wins — and there have been clear wins in changing the perception around the acting part of the craft, something she has seen happen more in the past five to seven years." [...] On the same topic, Hale looks back to the evolution of voice acting between the releases of Mass Effect (2007) and Mass Effect 2 (2010) alone. "In the beginning, the visuals technologically were where they were, and we had to be slightly presentational to push what was happening," she notes. "But as those visuals became so much more hyperrealistic, we could actually drop back and do one of my favorite things. Thought registers on camera. Now we're in the space where we can relax and allow thought to just register on the mic." [...] [UPDATE: Just hours before this article went live, SAG-AFTRA told its members in a memo that the companies' latest proposals contained "alarming loopholes that will leave our members vulnerable to A.I. abuse."] Newbon agrees A.I. is a real problem, but folks like Hale and Goldman aren't so concerned with A.I. replacements. They're confident players are more prone to connect with a character if there's a real performer behind it. Kniebihly agrees. "There's no doubt that the industry is going through a challenging time. Layoffs, budget cuts, and uncertainty have made it clear that nothing is guaranteed — even for successful studios," he says. "To me, what makes this job interesting in the first place is that weird, intangible chemistry between an actor and a director. It's the trust at the core of that relationship that pushes everyone to give the best of themselves and creates more than the sum of its parts. And I'm not going to get that from A.I. anytime soon.""

[source]

[that-wildwolf]

A Queer Reading of Mass Effect - Garrus Vakarian and Demisexuality

Despite the title this is really not a structured formal paper, more like just some rambly analysis from someone who is both queer and deeply obsessed with these fictional characters.

An obvious disclaimer is that this is my headcanon and personal interpretation, etc, etc. There are many ways to read this character and relationships, and this is just one of them, etc etc. You know the drill. Under no circumstances am I saying I'm right and everyone else is wrong, just presenting this particular reading of the character.

So. Garrus Vakarian. Best sniper boyfriend, bad boy turian, Archangel. Also, unintentional but great demisexual representation.

Now there's really no way to analyse all of Garrus' romantic relationships (the only one we know of from his past is his own account and that one is also only presented as a hookup/one night stand. I will return to this later. I think I will, at least. I don't have a plan here.) but there are two romantic relationships he can enter over the course of the three games: one with Commander Shepard or with Tali'Zorah.

Now, the latter is… not handled the best way in the games, in my opinion, and speaks of a wider issue with aphobia in not just the gaming industry but in media in general, but that's its own separate discussion. For the purposes of this analysis, however, I will be looking at Garrus's possible relationship with Tali. It's also important to note here that out of those two relationships, neither starts as romantic and rather is built first as a friendship and only eventually and potentially turns romantic or sexual much later on. The earliest Garrus can enter a romantic relationship is (though this is depending on playstyle) near the end of the second game of the trilogy, which makes more than half of the relationship we see him have with Shepard as more platonic than romantic (although admittedly those lines are rather blurry in the second game. More on that later.)

Back to Tali. They are friends first and know each other extremely well. I will not be going very deeply into this relationship because of how I feel about the way BioWare handled it, but for the sake of full transparency in this analysis, the game itself does present that relationship (also interesting side note while we're on the subject: out of the only two women we see Garrus "dating", neither is his species) as based on their friendship and connection rather than Garrus being physically attracted to Tali (in fact, it can be argued he didn't even know what she looked like at all prior to the two of them hooking up). Even though this is presented as more of a stress relief or friends with benefits situation than an actual romantic relationship, it is clear those two only chose each other because they were already close friends not because they saw each other as physically attractive.

This very nicely brings us (back?) to Garrus and his relationship with Shepard. Due to the way the games are structured and with Shepard being the main character, this is obviously going to be the largest section of this analysis, not just because of my personal emotional investment in this relationship but because of the largest abundance of material to analyse here.

The way Shepard and Garrus's relationship starts is… interesting. For the entirety of the first game, their dynamic is closer to that of a mentor and mentee and eventually of two friends, and there is very little hints of any seuxual/romantic feelings between those two.

ID: Garrus might have started to have feelings of some sort for Shepard at this point.

This base of friendship and mutual respect is extremely important to keep in mind especially with what comes later. The Shepard/Garrus relationship (from here on now referred to as 'Shakarian' for brevity's sake) begins in a way that is very different from most other video game romances (and most romances, really). It starts with Garrus stating outright that he is not attracted to Shepard. Now, there is definitely a lot more going on here than just taking what he says at face value, but it is also important to note that he has no reason to lie to Shepard here and in all likelihood, he truly believes what he's saying here.

Shepard proposes sex, essentially asking Garrus how he feels about adding benefits to their friendship. Throughout that whole conversation, neither of them highlights physical attraction. In fact, the way they're acting would suggest that's not even part of the equation here, or not a very important one at least. What they talk about instead is trust and respect.

ID: Shepard saying "I don't want something closer to home. I want you. I want someone I can trust."

Garrus agrees to Shepard's proposition not by saying he's always liked her or that they would make a good couple or anything like that. He says she's his best friend. Again the friendship is highlighted here so much and especially in direct opposition with the lack of physical attraction. As they go ahead with this, they're constantly talking about this connection they have — I want you, I want someone I can trust, you're my closest friend, if we're about to die I want to have a moment to cherish that's just the two of us… It's clear this is about more than just sex, to the both of them, but the feelings shown here do not come from physical attraction but from emotional connection.

I could analyse the Mass Effect 2 Shakarian romance scene to the moon and back and still have things to say, especially with regard to the demisexual reading of Garrus's character, but this post is running long as it is. Garrus is nervous and awkward and emotionally vulnerable. Any remaining conviction that this is about stress relief is at this point ultimately shattered.

Then cue Mass Effect 3. After six months apart, it is clear the relationship between Shepard and Garrus is… different from what we saw at the end of the previous game. The way they interact now, even before eventually officially reaffirming their relationship, is more unambiguously romantic. The physical touch between them is very deliberate, with particular attention given to their hands: they touch, shake and hold hands, tenderly cup each other's cheeks. It is clear at this point to the characters perhaps as much as to the audience that this is no longer about stress relief (and that's assuming that's all it ever was at any point, which can also be argued was not the case). Along with this deepened emotional connection between them, so does develop the way Garrus talks to and about Shepard. There are parts of Mass effect 3 where Garrus seems fully confident in the relationship and it does not seem to just be banter or joking. As he starts seeing Shepard as not just his friend but as his girlfriend, so does change the way he looks at her not as a human but as a woman. As a beautiful woman, even — something he would not have thought of her at the beginning of their relationship.

I would also be amiss if I didn't mention the way Garrus acts in the Citadel DLC and contrast it to his behaviour from Mass Effect 2 in particular. While definitely not "canon" in the way the games themselves are, the DLCs are also, for better or worse, officially released content in the universe of Mass Effect. (In the case of the Citadel DLC, thankfully mostly for better.) Everything in here should be taken with a grain of salt, especially with the romanceable characters, as the foremost role of this DLC is as something of fan service meant to give the series a happier sendoff than the actual ending. That being said, it is very interesting to see Garrus at a point in time (unspecified but although canonically this takes place before Cronos Station, the characters for the most part act more free and familiar and could be argued as though this takes place post canon — while I do not subscribe to this reading of the Citadel DLC, I thought it important to also point that out) where he and Shepard have been in a relationship for a longer period of time and he feels more confident in both the relationship and his role as Shepard's partner.

Garrus in the Citadel DLC joyfully asserts himself as Shepard's boyfriend (a word he only describes himself with once in the canon Mass Effect 3 if I'm correct) and proclaims his affection for her out loud and repeatedly. What's particularly interesting to note here is how often he refers to her being beautiful or attractive here. The "nice outfit" line is not exclusive to the Garrus romance, so it would feel dishonest to include it in an analysis of this character specifically, but there is a lot Garrus says about Shepard that other characters do not. He brings it back to how lucky he is to be with her and implies others might see her as a desirable partner. The "I love your hair and I'm pretty damned partial to the rest of you too" line always stood out to me. This can be read as just a cute nod to him finding her most alien features attractive, but it also speaks to him seeing her as attractive in general. The "hell if I know" conversation where he talks about how good she looked wearing her fancy outfit at the casino also comes across as genuine. It's fascinating to see him so forthright about his attraction to her at this point in time when put in contrast with him in Mass Effect 2 being so forthright about the lack of that attraction.

It is clear, very clear, that throughout their relationship Garrus grows to deeply love Shepard not because of her alienness or in spite of it, but completely separately from it. He acknowledges that she is human and that it is not something he is attracted to, but cares about her so deeply that it does not factor into the decision to agree to her proposition and entering into a relationship with her. The relationship they build together is one that is shown to be built on trust and mutual respect, in fact more so than any actual "feelings", which is admittedly a departure from what might instantly come to mind when one considers love, especially between two fictional characters. But aside from their confidence in their connection and in each other, there's another thing that grows in this relationship, once given time: Garrus's attraction to Shepard, something he initially was striaghtforward and realistic (Garrus, ever the realist, ever saying it as it is) about in saying that he did not see her that way. Then, giving time to their relationship and after letting their connection deepen, letting their emotional bond become stronger, Garrus finds himself attracted to Shepard not just emotionally but physically as well.

And definitely some might argue that after being with a human sexually and romantically for some time, Garrus has simply started to see humans as potentially desirable too, but we never see Garrus interested in any humans besides Shepard (RIP Chloe Michel's unrequited crush on this guy) so there is really no evidence either way here. And there are many ways to read this characterisation other than "this character is demisexual", but that is certainly the impression I am getting from the way this relationship progresses and the fact that he never mentions being attracted to anyone else, neither Tali in their possible brief hookup near the end of ME3 nor the scout from his story. In fact, he doesn't seem to pay much attention to phsyical appearance of potential partners whatsoever until his relationship with Shepard grows more intimate to allow him to find those feelings for her along the way despite not having them to start with. And that, at the very least, reads as extremely demisexual to me.

Happy Pride!

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

My son is on the news. A Dadler and Graveson oneshot.

Ao3: Link

It was a quiet day; the faint smell of cigar smoke curling through the air of the Adler estate combined with the framed photos depicting father and son in various stages of life had somehow managed to soften Adler's heart. The warm feeling of home stirred in his heart.   That is until he got a text from his old colleague and now friend, Frank Woods. (A Oneshot where Adler reacts to the court scene form Mw3)

“This is the life.” Adler hummed to the ghosts of his past as he puffed another cloud of smoke out of his nostrils, watching as it rose and curled towards the ceiling.

Here he was lying back in his armchair, a cigar held in his right hand, in his home for the past few decades, and the estate was his son's home as well.

Adler hadn’t seen his son for several months, which isn't unusual for the two of them. Phillip had his own pmc to command and Adler was still doing what he’s always done except he was stuck behind a desk, eyes latched to a screen, headphones secured on his head, he hated it, being so far from the action when his son was up fighting on the front lines.

As Adler was almost about to raise the cigar to his lips, a buzz sound from the small phone laid haphazardly on the small wooden side table. Adler's eyebrows furrow as he ashes out his cigar and plucks the small phone from the table.

The phone was a gift that he received from Phillip, despite Adler's grievances about Phillip's persistence that his father carry a phone so that he could be easily contacted by him and the rest of Adler’s friends, because of course he had so many.

Adler’s hand wrapped around the device, his finger pressing against the on button, the small screen illuminating a message at the top of the screen underneath the name displayed. 

Frank Woods

TURN ON THE FUCKING NEWS! YOUR SON'S DONE SOME SHIT!.

The bold words shown on the screen went straight to Adler's head, mind racing as he stood up from the armchair, heart racing. 

‘Fuck, what has Phillip done?’ His mind raced as he reached the glass coffee table, his hand wrapping around the TV remote, pressing buttons frantically, trying to find his son.

It didn't take long.

The breaking news headline moved across the bottom of the screen, the video of the courtroom playing before his eyes.

His son sat at a table facing towards the congress speaker; next to him sat an army general, judging from the many pins and other chest candy displayed on the general's chest.  

The TV speakers crackled as the audio came through. “Mr. Graves, were you given orders to use lethal force against TF-141?”

The congress speaker’s head tilted slightly as he asked the question, and Alder couldn’t help but laugh a little bit at the use of the fake last name despite the dread bubbling in his gut. The camera zoned in on Phillip waiting for his son’s response. 

“Yes, I was.” Phillip responded sharply, keeping his eyes ahead, not looking at the general sitting at another table next to him. Quiet murmurs echoed through the speakers detailing the jury's reactions.

“Quiet, quiet! In this chamber!” The judge's hard command spun through the chamber, flickering through the TV speakers. Adler watched as the judge redirected his attention back onto Phillip. 

“Who gave those orders?” The judge demands his eyes narrow on the screen. Phillip replies sharply, keeping his focused tunnel vision on the congress and judge panel.

“General Herschel Shepard.” 

Oh shit. 

Phillip had mentioned the general before, and Phillip's tone was less than friendly during that conversation. And this was that general. 

The court scene continues before Adler's very eyes.

“Did you act on those orders, Mr. Graves?” The judge’s continued grilling and questions were returned with devout answers until the trial came to a swift end.

As soon as Adler saw Phillip step out of the courtroom, his finger pressed against the call button, holding the small device to his ear, each ring of the phone feeling like another scar being etched into his skin with shrapnel. 

“Hey, Dad—” Phillip's words were cut short by Adler: “What the hell happened?” Adler’s demand was sharp, leaving no room for Phillip to deviate from the subject. 

Adler heard Phillip clear his throat before beginning to speak.

Safe to say after Phillip hung up on their conversation after explaining, and Adler got to work. 

—--------------------------------------------time skip—-------------------------------------------------------

Laswell was sitting in the middle of her dimly lit lounge. Her wife had gone to bed, trying to goad her to bed as well, but there was no rest for the wicked, so Laswell simply smiled and promised her that she would be in bed soon after.

That was 3 hours ago. Laswell had gotten a message earlier that day, and now all she was waiting for was a call. 

Her phone buzzed on the table, vibrating softly. Her hand snatched it from the tabletop. Her eyes scanned the illuminated screen, eyeing the ‘no caller ID’ at the top of the screen. She answered the call, holding it up to her ear. “This is Kate Laswell—” She's cut off by the voice on the other end. 

“709 Buena Vista Avenue DC. That's where the general is, tell Captain Price." The voice behind the phone was deep and calculated; it made Laswell's skin crawl.

“Who is this?” She asked, reaching for the computer in front of her. The voice responded immediately, “Someone who hates the general as much as you do and the captain does, so I’m doing you a favor and letting you end it.” 

The call with the stranger ended abruptly; Laswell retracted the phone from her ear as she sighed, rubbing her eyes as she set the phone down on the table. 

Her eyes darted back to the computer, tracing the screen before flicking onto another tab. Something felt wrong, but the general had overstepped far too many times and had proved to be a bigger threat than he was an ally.

The next day, Russel Adler got a call from a certain CIA director.

“Livingstone, how can I help you?’” Adler answers the incessant ringing phone that had been buzzing on his kitchen counter for well over two hours now. He had the phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear; his hands were preoccupied; he was cooking a simple meal for himself, nice glazed pork ribs with a side of coleslaw.

“An army general was just found dead in his office, the same general who had been seen on national television with your son! Did you do this!” Daniel Livingston's accusatory screeching voice whips through the phone, and Adler winces, mourning his right eardrum.

Adler signs exasperatedly. “Well, technically no,” he answered smugly. Oh, how he loved to push Livingston's buttons, and judging from the outraged cry that just came from Adler’s phone, it worked spectacularly. 

“What in God's good name did you do?” Livingstone demanded and Adler just chuckled a wide smirk across his face.

. “Well, I got rid of a potential threat. The general had already caused multiple unneeded casualties, and he also made an enemy of an exceptional task force that was under his command.” Adler's words were smooth and careless as if they were discussing the weather and not Adler's successful assassination.

Livingstone just sighed and hung up.

Adler removed one of his hands from glazing the ribs to place his phone back on the table before continuing to cover the raw meat in a beautiful barbecue glaze, his attention only being drawn away by the sound of footsteps approaching the kitchen.

“Heya pops.” The sound of Phillips' voice makes Adler roll his eyes comedically watching out of the corner of his eye as Phillip takes a seat at the large marble island table. “Watch'a making?” Phillips' inquiry makes Adler look up from his task to see his son's ruffled hair and dishevelled suit he had worn and slept in from the day before.

Adler huffs, smiling slightly, “barbecue ribs and a slaw. You slept in quite a bit; it's lunch." Adler watches as Phillip's tired expression rapidly changes into shock; his eyes widen at hearing what the time was. Phillip practically leaps out of his seat and tried to scramble out of the kitchen. 

“Not so fast, kiddo!.” Adler calls out, watching as Phillip stops dead in his tracks, looking over his shoulder at his old man. Adler smiles, picking up the bowl of perfectly glazed ribs. ‘At least stay for lunch.” 

Phillip looks at his father then to the bowl of yet-to-be-cooked ribs his stomach grumbles, gnawing with hunger, a flush of embarrassment flooding his face.

“Guess I could stay a little while longer…”

That day father and son ate lunch in the kitchen in their home. They shared stories and laughed together, a moment of peace for the both of them whilst the world was going to shit. 

[gloryofdawn]

Pretty much everybody on Tumblr seems to look at Garrus and be like, "Hm, yes, the optimal love interest." And that's fair! Garrus is great. Date him if you want.

But goddamn, have I just always had brainrot for Shepard and Garrus platonically. Their dynamic is just so flawless. I have never believed a game more when it has told me "These two people are best friends." They are the most found family siblings I've ever seen.

Every party member in Mass Effect 1 (who lives) goes on to achieve greatness above and beyond pretty much any party member introduced in subsequent games (except that I do specifically think the human party members are outstripped by Mordin), but you get to watch it happen with Garrus and Tali because they never leave you. Garrus starts off as "That loose cannon cop who signed on to help get Saren." After Shepard dies, he decides he's just going to casually end organized crime and is alarmingly successful. When Shepard shows up again, Garrus' reaction is to fucking shoot them and then joke about it when they finally make it to him. Shepard deflects Garrus' near death experience by calling him ugly. During his loyalty mission, you have the opportunity to have some absolutely raw conversations with him about ethics and morality that you don't really ever see with another companion except Jack, and she basically completely ignores everything you say until you see her in 3. With Garrus, he'll resist what you're saying, but you can see him trying to find the line between justice and revenge, law and chaos. If you put him in charge of the second team during the suicide mission, you can see how much he's grown with you as he effortlessly coordinates his team with yours. And all that is just in Mass Effect 2.

Once you get to 3, you really start seeing it. Garrus has made his way up in the Hierarchy and is leading their efforts against the Reapers, just like Shepard. When you ask him about it, he immediately starts talking about it as the shared work you've had since the first game. No other companion identifies themselves with you through this struggle. Sure, other companions will mention the previous games and what you did with them, but there's always something else. Liara is the Shadow Broker now. Tali has the Geth to worry about. The Virmire Survivor is bound up in the Alliance and becoming a Spectre. Wrex has the Krogan. But Garrus? Garrus is here with you. He's standing right next to you, giving the Reapers his full attention. And as you go throughout the game, he's consistently the one there for you. When you're struggling to get the Council Races to work together, he's there. When things go tits up on Thessia, he's there. Even you're going into the final run, he's there. When the two of you die, if Turian heaven is the same as human heaven, he'll meet you at the bar.

There is no Vakarian without Shepard. There is no Shepard without Vakarian. These two soldiers are bound together with blood, sweat, and the sheer Terminator-grade determination to save the galaxy, no matter how much it kicks and screams. There is no fire they won't jump into for the other one, and they'll make fun of each other the whole way. There's no other relationship like it.

I'm Glory of Dawn, and this is my favorite platonic ship on the Citadel.

[janewayintersection]

after the other shenkos ever so cruelly reminded me of the shared "are you flirting with me?" line shep and kaidan have in me3, i just need to cover my favorite things about it.

so there are like, two main flavors of shenko, right. the trilogy romance run and the me3 romance run. the "are you flirting with me?" line takes on different meanings with each one, and they're both so good.

with a previously romanced kaidan, it's funny because it takes on more of a silly "haha let's pretend we're new at this" joke. like "oh, we have to start from the beginning again, looks like we're back to basic flirting LOL". i know people say this line makes more sense with an unromanced kaidan, but i do really love the idea of it being a goof between the two of them as their relationship recovers.

while unromanced, you've got kaidan, who's been pining since me1, but has been dealing with commander "i'm married to my job. also i died and joined cerberus" shepard. and kaidan's genuinely just so fucking flabbergasted at the mere notion that 1. this seems to truly be the shepard he remembers and has feelings for, 2. that shepard might be into him and 3. that shepard is possibly flirting with him. and then once shepard repeats the "are you flirting with me?" line later, its a mix of this confidence boost, and the "fuck it, the world is ending" mentality that finally leads to kaidan flirting way more obviously and eventually deciding to take his shot. i love it. and like others have said, this could become an inside joke as well.

delicious. im eating the shenko parallels off the fucking floor as we speak. yum.

[messydiabolical]

i’d once read a Mass Effect take that has been stewing in my melon ever since, about Wrex and him demanding a cure for the genophage during the war in 3. (I think it was on twitter but I can’t remember for sure. Just the idea of it stuck with me.) The general sentiment was that this was a dick move on his part, that there were “bigger problems” and this wasn’t the time and it was cruel and manipulative of him to put Shepard in that position. He should have helped out first and Shepard would have helped him back once the war was over. A lot of people chimed in agreeing, saying how they stopped liking Wrex after that. It bothered me for a bunch of reasons I didn’t feel I could adequately articulate, but i’m gonna try now. Prepare for my meandering thought style! The governing bodies of the Mass Effect Galaxy have repeatedly proven that they believe themselves superior to other species and know what’s best for everyone. They don’t let all species have a say in the council, always look out for their own species’ interests in so much as it pertains to keeping things as they are, and will happily go along with literal genocide to aid this. They approve of secret police and biological warfare espionage tactics. They weaponise bureaucracy to hide their cruelty behind ‘oh red tape has us bound, sorry uwu’.   I’m going to try to remain pertinent to the Wrex subject but as one great example of these governing bodies ways of dealing with percieved outsiders: The first contact war is a great example of how ludicrous and fascist things are.. ‘It’s ilegal to use this thing so we’re going to kill you for it’ without so much as a heads up. How were humans supposed to know that, exactly? The governing bodies of this place do not care about anyone outside their own self interests. Fall out of line and they will work to end you. Until you prove you might be useful or of interest to them in some way (or a threat). And then of course we later learn the asari were breaking these laws themselves, hoarding this tech to stay superior. Classic. Anyway, back to Wrex. Wrex knows this. Wrex has seen how the krogan are regarded and treated, the dangerous monolith species, outsiders who can never be let in, never forgiven, never given a chance to grow or change. For a long arse time. “But the krogan were getting out of control and also committing genocide, the genophage was a last ditch resort to stop a galactic war” … And it’s been hundreds of years since then. That 'last ditch resort' wasn’t used as a stop gap, a reset to even out the playing field so that new negotiations and relations could be developed. It was used to end the krogan, and has been actively maintained to continue that, ever since. Do you really, truly believe that if Wrex petitioned the council/ world leaders to negotiate reversing the genophage, they’d even let him have an audience with them? And if they did, do you really think these people, with their history and all the shit they pull, would listen and be reasonable? I can already hear the responses, that weaponised bureaucracy (“you raise an interesting point Mr Wrex but unfortunately we are recovering from a war don’t you know, please come back in 300 years for review, we are very interested in discussing this further then!”) Wrex is old, wise and knows exactly what is up. The only way the governing bodies of power were ever going to have a listen, was if he had something they needed. The war with the reapers provided that. And even then, he knew that they wouldn’t listen outright; having Shepard’s voice was a way to get the foot in the door. It makes my heart hurt to think about that honestly; how dehumanising (dekroganising?) it must feel to be the ruler of your people and know that you have to rely on your alien friend to even get someone to listen to you, when what you want to say is an extremely reasonable “hey committing genoicde against my people sucks, stop that now”. Anyway, Wrex was right, this was his one chance to save his people and he took it. Good for him.

[lassieposting]

Concept:

Archangel leaves a mark on pop culture on Omega. There's a multi-season vidset, or something, because the guy helped a lot of people and saved a lot of lives, and ended a lot of intimidation and exploitation, and Omega isn't exactly rife with heroes. It's a good story.

So there's a lasting media impression. Garrus laughs it off when it comes out - when the crew tease him about the CW-casting Ruggedly Handsome turian actor playing his alter ego, or the shoehorned-in kiss-kiss-bang-bang romance arc between "Archangel" and the asari crime queen of Omega, who's very clearly an Aria T'Loak analogue edited just enough that the real thing won't go hunting down the film crew. He tells Shepard the real stories that inspired certain episodes, with an abundance of dry humour and an unexpected level of self-deprecation. But she can tell it bothers him, because - the thing is, the vid portrays him as a lone wolf vigilante. And he wasn't.

Sometimes, the character will say a cliche line about doing better alone or his lifestyle being too dangerous to get close to others, and Shepard will glance over at Garrus and find him just. Staring into the middle distance, like he's not really there with her anymore, and she thinks, he isn't. Not really. He's back in that hideout, coming home to a massacre. He's draping sheets over the lifeless bodies of the friends who died horribly to protect him. He's remembering their faces, and realising that no one else ever will, even as they celebrate him - the one he ultimately holds responsible.

So she reaches out to her contacts in the media world, and manages to track down the people making the vid. It's not exactly hard, but it's time consuming - she gets in touch with the actor playing the lead on the extranet, he points her to the director, the director sends her to the writers, who send her to the studio, and then to the financiers. But she convinces them to change it. When the next season releases, Archangel starts meeting/recruiting his team.

And he never mentions it - at least, not to her - but she thinks that seems to ease something in Garrus. His team immortalised on the silver screen, given credit for their part in his story, portrayed as heroes for what they were trying to do.

(He doesn't watch the last few episodes - Sidonis' betrayal, the massacre, his desperate last stand against the united gang forces, the revelation that Archangel's body was never found. Neither does she. But she checks what viewers are saying on social media later on, and honestly, she hopes he does, too.)

((She thinks he could do with all the reminders that those deaths were not his fault))

[alittlebitofloveliness]

In defence of Steve Randle

Listen guys, Steve Randle gets a lot of hate in this fandom and as much as it pains me, it's valid. Everyone has their own interpretation of the source material, and fandom is supposed to be fun, so it is absolutely valid and ok to hate or love any character you want. You can hate Steve for many reasons or for no reason at all! This is fandom! That's ok! The story is for you interpret and love and play with and hate on to your hearts content. HOWEVER, to say that Steve Randle isn't an important character to the novel is simply not true, and to say that he hates Ponyboy requires ignoring or downplaying some pretty key moments of the book. This is especially true for those of you who love Dally but hate Steve, because Steve gets a lot of hate for being kind of a dickhead (which lbr, a lot of seventeen years old are, especially to their friend's little siblings) while Dally gets less for doing a lot worse (harassing Cherry, jumping kids, etc). This isn't to say that either character is better- they're both great, nuanced characters who have done bad things, but the fandoms attitudes towards them when they share a lot of characteristics is really telling. Even Ponyboy's narration about them is pretty similar- Pony doesn't particularly like Steve, and he was canonically scared of Dally, but they're both members of his gang and he doesn't hate either of them. You don't have to like Steve as a character, just like you don't have to like Dally or Darry or Tim Shepard or even Ponyboy, but he is important- and he doesn't hate Ponyboy, nor does Ponyboy hate him.

A really important moment in the book is when Ponyboy and Johnny defend Dally after he harasses Cherry and Marcia.

"Dally's okay," Johnny said defensively, and I nodded. You take up for your buddies, no matter what they do. When you're a gang, you stick up for the members. If you don't stickup for them, stick together, make like brothers, it isn't a gang any more. It's a pack. A snarling, distrustful, bickering pack like the Socs in their social clubs or the street gangs in New York or the wolves in the timber."

This line here is super important. Pony and Johnny were willing to defend Dally after he sexually harrassed Cherry and Marcia- soc girls who they clearly liked and were intimidated by- in the name of being a good friend, because that is what's important to them and their gang. If they're willing to do it in this context for Dally, you'd best believe they'd do the same for Steve, and him for them. Steve can and will rag on Ponyboy within the gang, but he'd never dream of bad mouthing him to anyone else. Dependability is important to the gang, and Steve would never publicly shit talk Pony, and vice verca. Regardless of their squabbles within the gang, at the end of the day they've got each others backs. They're buddies. We see evidence of this at the end of the book, when Pony grabs the bottle and threatens the socs with it.

"You really would have used that bottle, wouldn't you?" Two-Bit had been watching from the storedoorway. "Steve and me were backing you, but I guess we didn't need to. You'd have really cut them up, huh?"

The important thing here is that along with Two-bit, Steve was backing Ponyboy, no questions asked. Sure most of it boils down to Pony being a member of the gang and that deep rooted loyalty to one another, but the context for this scene is that Ponyboy was sitting on Steve's car waiting for Steve and Two to stop flirting with some girls. The three of them were hanging out- without Darry, without Sodapop. It's their school lunch break. We know Ponyboy has middle class friend's at school, or that he could've spent time in the school library. It was a deliberate choice to hang out with Two and Steve. He wasn't forced into it. Canonically, Steve and Ponyboy hang out. Never alone, but they're decent enough friends to hang out together in a group. Doesn't everyone have friends like that? I do. This isn't the only textual instance either where they hang out without the entire gang being present. Early on, Pony offhandedly mentions that sometimes Steve and Soda will buy him pop and teach him about cars if he hangs around the DX.

"I had walked down to the DX station to get a bottle of pop and to see Steve and Soda, because they'll always buy me a couple of bottles and let me help work on the cars."

He could've just said Soda's name here but he didn't. Steve buys Pony pepsi and teaches him about cars, even though he gets annoyed with him when Soda invites him to hang around with them too often. And honestly, who wouldn't? I'd be annoyed if my best friend always invited her little brother along with us, even if I liked the kid. Wouldn't you?

Now, we do need to address the elephant in the room. I'm talking of course, about this quote;

"I'd never tell Soda, because he really likes Steve a lot, but sometimes I can't stand Steve Randle. I mean it. Sometimes I hate him."

I feel like very often people forget the context this quote comes from, and so it's magnitude is blown way out of proportion. Ponyboy has just been jumped and then immediately scolded by his brother who constantly makes him feel foolish and unwanted. He's already scared, embarassed, and defensive and then Steve goes and makes him feel even more unwanted. Of course he wants to lash out. Of COURSE he feels like he hates Steve in that moment. I did even reading it. But Ponyboy doesn't truly hate Steve. This moment is PEAK fourteen year old having a rough night energy, it's not truly representative of Steve as a character or of Ponyboy's feelings towards him. In truth, Steve actually kind of likes Ponyboy and is at very least protective over him. This is evidence by the previous quotes, but also when Ponyboy comes back from Windrixville, and is worried about the state placing him in foster care;

"'No, [Ponyboy said] 'they ain't goin' to put us in a boys' home.' 'Don't worry about it,' Steve said, cocksure that he and Sodapop could handle anything that came up. 'They don't do things like that to heroes.'"

It's subtle, and not immediately obvious to the traumatized fourteen year old who is used to Steve's cocky nature, but this is both a reassurance and a very bold claim. Not only is Steve trying to look out for Ponyboy the way the rest of the gang models- by treating him like a kid, letting the 'adults' worry about grown up issues in a misguided attempt to protect Pony- he is also throwing in his lot to make sure nothing does happen. Based on this quote and the rest of Steve's characterization throughout the book its not hard to infer that Steve would fight tooth and nail to make sure Ponyboy stays safe with his family. Sure, part of it is gang loyalty, part of it is his devotion to soda, but part of it is because he and Ponyboy are buddies in their own right, no matter how much they fight. They are friends- and Steve is an incredibly important character for many reasons, but particularly to add depth to Pony's character, to the bond between the Curtis gang, and to highlight how the Curtis gang differs from the other gangs in Tulsa. Steve is just as much an outsider as the rest of the gang, and it's disingenuous to say otherwise no matter how much you may hate him as a character.

[edenprime]

I despise Kai Leng and his pathetic faux foil role in ME3 so much. It would've been so much better if it had been the Virmire victim and honestly- it would've made the Cerberus storyline so much better. It would've turned "Shepard becomes an idiot every time some guy with a sword appears" into "Shepard is blindsided by seeing their friend back from the dead". It also works with the foils dynamic and more:

Both brought back by Cerberus. Shows Shepard the other side of the coin - how they could've been if Cerberus had actually messed with their head. Shepard also makes some comments about themselves that make it look, in a way, like they do have some lingering doubts at the very least about coming back. When you look at the Shepard VI and they ask if they are really like that, when they ask EDI if they are transhuman or cyborg, when they refuse to talk about the clone situation every time it's brought up on the DLC, when they keep comparing the clone to themselves... I know we have the child dreams as our show of Shepards PTSD, but this could've added another layer to it.

"And for every soldier you [the reapers] add, your enemy loses two: the one you converted, and his buddy on the other side who can't pull the trigger on a friend." -> we could see this! Javik aludes to the same, but we never see it on screen. It's just a hypothetical, the only people who become indoctrinated are villains, Cerberus, or their allies. This would've shown that, it would've been some cool foreshadowing. As it is, it's just a loose end.

Shepard spat in Cerberus eye when they left, especially if they destroyed the Collector base. Using the resuscitated and indoctrinated friend against them would've been an incredible way of spitting back at them. It would've been an amazing show of power. It could've demonstrated that Shepard wasn't the first, that Cerberus was already experimenting with life and death even before the success of the Lazarus project.

It gives more credibility to TIM's claims that he can control the reapers, and it's a nice setup to the reveal of what's actually going on in Horizon and Sanctuary.

And even then, no Kai Leng and no Virmire victim would've been better than Kai Leng. Everything stays the same but that plot-armored jackass doesn't exist. Cerberus attempts a coup with regular agents, they steal the data from thessia with regular agents, they show up as regular agents on Horizon, etc. Because Leng doesn't work at all in the story. He doesn't.

Regardless of how well it was executed, the entire Cerberus plot line is supposed to be a "coming full circle" moment from me1. We had the indoctrinated Saren leading the indoctrinated geth (synthetic) in me1. We have the indoctrinated TIM leading indoctrinated humans (organics) in me3. We end up with a "showdown" between saren/TIM in which depending on how persuasive we were during our previous talks, they (now deformed by reaper tech) shoot themselves in the head.

Where does Kai Leng fit into all of this? He doesn't! He's just... there. He's got no room in the story.

[swaps55]

Ok ok feelings question for you: what's something you didn't expect Sam to struggle with after being brought back that he's having a really hard time with?

OH. This is excellent.

Okay. So. I thought Sam's biggest hangup was going to be about the loss of bodily autonomy. Being brought back without his consent. His body being altered without his consent. I thought he was going to be suicidal over it. He will end things on his terms. And that that line of thinking is why he works for Cerberus and takes on the suicide mission, because going through the Omega 4 would give him some semblance of control back over his life, even if that just meant getting to decide how it ended.

I was not wrong about his struggle with bodily autonomy. It's a huge struggle. But it is not the primary struggle. It's third on the list. Two other things that I didn't realize were so important to him are now obviously, clearly the things he is most distressed by.

(under a cut, as this is about to be a big focus of Mezzo)

Sam Shepard, the child who buried a father without a body because no one looked for one, swore to his found family that he would come for them no matter what. They would never go unfound if they were in trouble, because he was never going to let what happened to his father happen again. And then...no one looked for him. He is just starting to learn how angry he is about it.

He broke his promise to Aslany. There is one reason and one reason alone he is sticking with Cerberus, and it's to find Kara Pendergrass. Nothing. No one. Will sway him from this one goal. He is going to make good on his promise or die trying. Maybe they didn't come for him, but he will come for her. I don't think he can even really begin to wrap his head around what he's going to do about Horizon, how to salvage his life, or what home he has left. Every fiber of his being is focused on getting to Kara. He has to fix that before he can fix any of the rest of it.

These two things reframed how I saw a lot of Sam's relationships in Mezzo, especially Liara.

[blackberrysummerblog]

Hi all, Happy Wednesday! I feel bad that I haven’t been around much the past few weeks. If I’m honest, things are pretty difficult right now, but we press on, right? Thank you so much to everyone who’s been tagging me; I have so much catching up to do!

I’ve been on and off productive in my own writing, so I’ll share a little bit of everything fandom-related I’ve written lately:

Pull Yourself Together: I can juuuust about touch the end of this one! It’s been so long since the last chapter was posted, but I really do feel like I’ll finish this week. Here’s a hurt-y snippet (Baz POV, natch):

I’ve untangled myself from Snow’s sweaty embrace (again) and we’ve performed the daily ritual of sitting up and climbing off the bed together; we’re experts now. We’re expert at not talking to each other about it, too.

Crowley, what are bodies? Even though I’m not really alive, I somehow still have to deal with the utter ridiculousness and indignity of corporeality and its attendant needs. I try to imagine a world where I don’t have to want to jump Simon Snow’s bones every time he walks into the room (with his broad shoulders and his freckled face, and that blasted soft look he keeps giving me). I try to imagine a world in which his touch doesn’t instantly soothe my soul. It’s all too much. I don’t think it exists, this imaginary place where I’m not utterly obsessed with him. It’s more than physical; it’s infinite. A sob catches in my throat as I make my way into the en suite, and I quickly close the door.

Things are going a little better for the boys in The Field Trap, which believe it or not I have been working on. Another Baz POV:

Simon rolls his hips, tipping me onto my side so that we lie face to face. “I love you, Baz,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb beneath my lower lip. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but we’ll figure it out together.”

That’s all I want. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. The only light now is from the wood stove, and rain continues to beat the tin roof and ancient glass windows. Simon finds my mouth in the dark, and his hand slides down my belly to rest on my inner thigh. “Is this OK?” he mumbles, and I answer by clutching him closer. He pulls back to look me in the eyes. “Do you trust me?”

I do. I can’t find the strength to speak, so I nod frantically instead. Simon grabs the duvet and hurls it over us, then flashes me a cheeky grin before throwing his leg over me and disappearing under the covers. Crowley, I’m living a charmed life.

Last but definitely not least, some Dev POV from my COBB with @rimeswithpurple, in which I tried to be clever with Niall’s tattoo and was VERY late to the game discovering it worked on a much more obvious and funny level. Oops:

As though feeling my gaze, Niall looks up and removes a lollipop from his mouth. He leans over to pinch up a towel, remarking dryly, “Crumpled with intention.” He flaps it out toward me before dropping it.

“Piss off!” I snarl. He only gives me a wan smile before turning away, and what’s that about? As though I’m not worth his bloody time.

“Easy, gents,” Gareth soothes, scooting in to readjust the stacks of essentially folded towels. He quirks an eyebrow at me and nods toward Niall’s retreating figure; I don’t know why. I’m not going after him; he’s the one pointlessly nagging and haranguing me.

“Coming in hot today, Dev,” the American drawls as he swans past. At least Shepard has a passing acquaintance with a sense of style, quirky though it may be. Niall, on the other hand, is showing off yet more in his wardrobe range of ghastly earth tones today. Although, he does have a lovely blush-coloured button-down on beneath his snug-fitting khaki cardigan. He’s wearing his hair down this morning and must have nicked some of Baz’s product, because it’s curling around his face in smooth auburn waves rather than the halo of frizz he normally yanks back into an artless bun.

I’ve finally determined that the line of the tattoo I noticed is a river, although I have no idea how far it may wind down his pale torso, nor what other landscaping may be involved. I scowl as the term ‘landscaping’ lodges in my brain and refuses to leave. Fuck my life.

I hope everyone has a great rest of the week! I plan to spend some time catching up on everyone’s tags and posts (please god give me time). Hellos and no-pressure tags: @youarenevertooold @thewholelemon @forabeatofadrum @monbons @j-trow-95 @nausikaaa @roomwithanopenfire @valeffelees @artsyunderstudy @cutestkilla @best--dress @c0nsumemy5oul @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists @leithillustration @aristocratic-otter @ic3-que3n @prettygoododds @fiend-for-culture @mooncello @brilla-brilla-estrellita @asocialpessimist @drowninginships @orange-peony @ileadacharmedlife @stitchy-queerista @imagineacoolusername @letraspal @carryonsimoncarryonbaz @raenestee @shrekgogurt @facewithoutheart @alexalexinii @iamamythologicalcreature @supercutedinosaurs @confused-bi-queer @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @hushed-chorus @skeedelvee @the-beard-of-edward-teach @bookishbroadwayandblind @bookish-bogwitch